the moon can but watch
these winds raw my sky
shadow-drunk and frantic
my bitter skin screams
language is a diamond
crushed to rust
like milk
shot through with summerless blood
whispering is wax music
Tag: poetry
count (20160808)
shuddering sun
or is it
the world moving
breaking
beneath our feet
i reach for your hand
count the rings
of your fingerprints
brushing against my own
there is no darkness
only birth
there is no light
only the song
of your breathing
shed skins (20160807)
the eucalyptus has shed
its bark
now a smooth white
shushing like sandpaper
under my palm
it stretches fifty feet or more
and twists as it grows
a split the width of my finger
the length of my forearm
rises up the trunk
how simple it seems
to grow this way
add a ring
lose some skin
start over each year
praying for rain
and easy winds
salted smiles (20160806)
warm belly,
remember this ferocious desire
for you are a prisoner of
women wet with throbbing
sadness
sacred sex, porcelain hearts, salted smiles
——
doggerel (20160805)
the bones hang slack
and the blood cools swift
we shamble forward
toward the rift
no light within
no light without
we trip and fall
swallowed up by doubt
our descent will take
a thousand years
our only company
will be our fears
these are the angels (20160804)
the beating of dark wings
in complete darkness
and the downy touch of
feathers brushing your cheek
this is no dream, this
eternal blackness
no manifestation of
of unfulfilled desires
or torturous regrets
these are the angels
with knives for voices
they want to sing to you
these are the angels
with razors for hands
longing to caress you
these are the angels
with fire for tongues
and how they want to kiss you
seaside at midnight (20160803)
the lady curves her back
hair wet
resting one hand against a rock
as if to hold herself upright
as if unused to gravity
and her legs
fold gently beneath her
glimmering
in moonlight
as if scales covered her thighs
as if the song she hums
can be refused
chariot (20160802)
these words are slow horses
pulling a chariot
with broken wheels
an abundance of syllables
roll against my teeth
yet little remains
to drive the pen
across paper
hvac (20160801)
the aerospace building
looks like a
travel agency
from the sidewalk
but as i pass
i notice the hissing
and an angled pipe
slithering from the concrete
as some kind of
compressed gas escapes
the wall, nicotine-stained yellow
like mom’s fingers
grass dances around
the bare patch of earth
below the spewing mouth
and there is a whiff of sulphur
i try to hold my breath
but as i pass
i wonder where that air
is coming from
an employee desiccating lounge
where drones are slowly
dried and their oxygen vented
to the outside world?
some lab where experimental fuels
burn out of control
and in an attempt to save the company
toxic fumes are funneled
to the damned, unsuspecting public?
i quicken my steps
it’s probably just the hvac system
i tell myself
yes, that’s all that it is
tin toy (20160731)
step one is inserting the key
in the back
and having someone wind you up
every goddamned day
tighten that spring
so you have enough energy
to make it
until the next wind up
i don’t know who designed us
to have these holes
in our backs
when the holes are in our hearts
and when will the key fit into my chest
so i can wind it myself
or not
Words and Feathers 