floating and leaving no trace
the last fall of rain
did little to put out
a fire burning
in the marrow of my bones
smoke enough to choke
and a rough slurry of ashes
were all that cleansing
could effect
the heavens will have to spare
more water than there is
in all seven seas
to drown me
i glow
i am a furnace
hot and steel-forging
and the blades i produce
make damascus weep
each word an edge
each word a razor so fine
it slices my tongue as it
leaves my mouth
i quench my blades
my words
in the cool water of you
in the satisfying draughts
of your eyes
of your words
which are sheaths to my own
this is the real thing, this life
an absence of the not thing
a scarcity of the not life
your skin burns away
in the heat
your skin dries up
in the cold
we are mummies and ashes and ice
let it all crack and crackle
let it split us open
hollow us out before
we step into the dry heat
–at least it’s a dry heat,
they say, as if that makes it
a better heat–
we will be put back together
maybe kinstuki
glittering and showing our flaws
but whole
step into the light
and everything about
you is
illuminated
the glow starts
in the blood
like a 50s sci-fi movie
about a man
with radioactive bones
who becomes incandescent when
angry
or
in love
everything is hard to look
at when you’re the sun
when you burn
in the pit of your stomach
the palms of your hands
and the sockets of your eyes
are fire
starting a fire is easy
there are steps of course
which must be observed
ignore any of these at
your own peril
first, you must find suitable
tinder
the human ego is usually
dry and brittle enough
and hardly needs any fussing with
to get it going
a smoldering look, say
or a few words tossed
at the right angle to
make a few sparks
i know some of you are
going to ask about accelerants
but really
what burns hotter
faster or
brighter
that human blood
you thought it was mostly water
but really
it was rocket fuel
i saw a fire burning in the sea
in the sea
in the sea
and within the fire grew a tree
grew a tree
grew a tree
its leaves were flames
its fruits were gems
and one of these a diadem
i saw an angel upon the shore
upon the shore
upon the shore
and in its hand a sword it bore
sword it bore
sword it bore
the edges of the blade were eight
made by heaven’s mysterious art
and with the blade it pierced my heart
i saw a tiger in the night
in the night
in the night
its skin was dark but its stripes were bright
stripes were bright
stripes were bright
its mouth was filled, a froth of blood
its feet were hands like those of men
its eyes were ice, its breath a wind
i fell through darkness into
deeper darkness
striking the earth with my back
splitting the ground
and splitting my bones
the darkness covered me
my breathing grew ragged
and my pulse faint
until the angels came
they breathed into my mouth
and my lungs filled with fire
they poured water over my wounds
and the black charred husk
washed away from my skin
and i could see the stars
turning and singing
and was happy for the darkness
turner made quick sketches
of buildings on fire
of the crowds milling–
less people than mealworms
shaken in a box–
while smoke pillared into the sky
and orange tongues licked
at the clouds and down
into the sluggish thames
your skin,
according to the textbooks,
holds everything in,
keeps everyone out,
keeps you from coming apart
(though you have no seams)
if we could shed our skins
like snakes do
scratching along rocks and desert scrub
the way a phoenix rids itself
of feathers in a fire
the way a koi trades its fish scales
for dragon scales at the top of a waterfall
we could melt into one another
and our hands would never disengage
she crawls on top of me
her skirt sliding up over
her thighs
bare knees pressed
against my hips
i can feel her heat
through my jeans
she leans down
her hair brushes
against my face
and she whispers
bearing down on me
like a fire
like the sun
her mouth against my ear
she whispers
“it’s okay if we do this”
and she presses down against me
and I slide my hands up her back
and find her skin
and her breath is fire
Words and Feathers 