So, riffing off Stay, a poem I wrote back in autumn. Curious what you think. I'm trying to work through some things... what love is all about, which is a rather large topic, how do we identify when we're in that state. Is it physical, can you love that which destroys you - is that … Continue reading Stay: Audio
Almost got to touch you, tonight. Caracal... you purr. Cat. Nails. Some light scratch. Tail slipping through grass. Almost got to touch you.
the forests curved path your warm breath mixing with mine kiss in dappled light
I am contained by spit and bailing wire, the old go-cart knocked together from peach crates, roller skates, an old wooden skate affixed with bent nails to peach-stained slats. Rocking down hills, round hairpin turns, skipping cracks and gaps. Memory. Bailing wire and gum, glue, thoughts of you. Cocksure and unafraid. Rickety with memory, bound by … Continue reading I Am a Rocking Child, Rolling
To be said, about love. Birthed in the shadow of the rock, a daughter of Tyre thou art my hiding place dozing, salamander curled, nose to tail, fire banked, ready for the warm breath of a lover on newly discovered flesh. … Continue reading There Is a Thing
I love like a leper. Putting all the odd bits and bobs of me out on a shelf, an eye, an ear, a favored toe. Hobbling about on twinned islands, made for lamed people like us. Painting other's faces with mercury, gazing with one longing good eye across the strait, from our baths of virgins … Continue reading I Cannot Love Like a Leper
Broken. All my words broken. Asunder and cracking. A slinger hurling stone against my forehead, Breaking me. I had one language; and this I began to do: Nothing was restrained from me, which I had imagined to do. Now, my thoughts, like a people speaking the same language, scattered. You came down. Confounded my language. … Continue reading Nimrod’s Lips
A mail carrier, a postie, a letter carrier Walked into a bar. Smittie wiped his rag slowly down the bar, one eye on the newcomer, the other in the mirror, debating how he'd parted his hair that morning. (It had been a tortuous argument, between him and himself, the comb dancing from left side to … Continue reading Dead Loving Office
It's a bitch that spits, bites and claws - this thing that lumps us into rooms together. I know people who move side by side all the time, parallel, never meeting, don't touch to chat married, Squirrels squirreling nuts for a winter that never comes, busy busy busy Falling off power lines, smack onto the hot grill … Continue reading Heart on the Grill
You hit me / like Boal / hit women. My love. Imagine my surprise.