I am wearing that dress,
the one I just got at Goodwill.
It feels expensive,
in its heavy lightness,
and I paid too much for it,
four dollars more than
I usually would.
But when I saw it,
I just thought it might
make you think of how
the sand looks
underneath an incoming storm,
those swirling purple grays
un-dazzling its diamonds,
dark waves curling like hair.
And I wanted you to
look in my eyes
to see the waves in them,
and the storms,
Let’s be children,
and stare up at trees,
because we know them.
Let’s explore our bodies
and wildly fling ourselves
Let’s abandon each other
only to cry
once the other is out of sight.
Let’s make the search a game,
to find each other again,
and set things right,
and feel our hot breath
breathing through each other,
after running for centuries
in the mud.
Let’s laugh uproariously
and ignore the Fates
and beat our hearts
though all else is
Let’s awaken the woods,
let’s find the fairies and
make them our playmates!
Let’s kiss all the nymphs and
and watch them blush,
and kiss them harder!
Let’s jump off neon ledges,
let’s swing from them,
and dance until we fall
I don’t think I’ve brushed my hair in four days
but I washed it.
I’m wearing a pink pipe-cleaner ring,
with a bead.
It’s not like I’m exactly pencil-thin
but my ribs stick out,
and my pelvic bones.
I like it when you call me, drunk,
and I like being alone,
with empty inboxes,
watching my favorite movies on Netflix,
I might be more drunk than you,
on less wine.
I love it when my hands swirl
in front of my face,
and I know
you are busy,
when its been all day,
so I take pictures of myself in
This is how I always look!
Deal with it,
people who like my poetry.
Your voice sounds like silver chariots,
sweeping my balcony,
cold in moonlight,
soft like the feathers
of your horses’ wings,
warm like red wine,
ancient like the end of time.
I don’t want to escape from it
the way I am driven from
all the noises
that echo through earthen
I want to escape into your tenor majesty,
like a falsetto get-away car,
like a sun-streamed swing set,
like a wailing underground railroad,
like a quavering ocean wavelet.
To begin with:
I fluttered this afternoon over your dismay,
you were spreading ashes,
and decadently ordering your own decay,
aloud to the masses,
and flinging verse like lollipops at a parade,
and selling your lines like tickets in an arcade,
should we buy passes?
Oh yes, I can screech, my voice a train car shrill,
You haven’t terrified me and you never will,
show me your flexes!
Despise and berate the whole of humanity ill,
of both the sexes,
and violate harmonies dancing over your hill,
They don’t allow your death, the arms of the Fates!
Nor will you see mine!
You bear your wrath like cargo ships and their crates,
or like the Divine.
In my never-ending solace to see you irate,
(it is when you shine)
I curse you with ever-last hell for to contemplate,
all my sordid rhymes.
You see me slither inside your shadow’s encumbrance,
I rear my head,
are you watching, regal, sitting atop your indulgence,
my eager tread?
Regardless of treacherous language and all of your parlance,
we’ll still be fed.
The Muse will continue proving his worth and his guidance,
until we’re both dead!
Feel me roar in the avenues of the sun.
Feel my power, equal to fucking none.
Feel your legs, they quiver as you are undone,
by my teeth, my lips, my breasts, and my tongue.
Feel as your heart pounds like a machine gun.
Feel my hands around your throat, one by one.
Feel the empty shadows flee, for I’ve won!
Feel your body shaken, riddled, and spun.
Feel daggers of my hands and feet, have your fun.
Feel the silk of my hair, I know, you’re stunned.
Feel the edge of my knives evade your lungs,
Feel impossible lightning that has sprung.
Feel, the tones of my heart, for you have sung,
Feel the edges of sanity fully wrung,
Feel the moments of ecstasy fully flung,
Feel your sweating body, I’ve just begun.
Your thoughts are temples where I prostrate my dangling body skyward,
like the first Apollo stringing his bow and missing,
the pendulum swinging in fervent leisure for your intestines,
a frightful, phallic Babel torn asunder by ancient breath,
the wooden cross where he begged to present himself breeched,
a screwdriver in a madman’s shaking, Herculean hand.
I worship them in my uplifted, grasping posture ,
groping the sun at right angles to a hunter’s melody,
commanding the walls to enclose me into a clammy pit,
building up walls for my own divinity,
humbling myself to basest inhumanity,
gratifying my serial killer tendencies.
cries out my soul, in earthquake admiration,
So I may weep tears of your laughter incarnate.
We sit on the floor,
like two black cats,
passing paper back and forth,
to write cleverness on.
Your words fill mine over
with blood-satin truth,
with a mission,
First, I was on the litter,
as rustics carried me ever closer to you;
those demonic angel masks,
and flowing fingers.
They danced, and all I saw was color,
color to the beat of the drums,
against the beads of your constellation.
I saw you, Taurus, dios, flood,
and they brought me ever closer
to your sinister stampede
atop the mountains.
Now, they are tying my hands
with rough hemp and
loosening my hair which
snaps in the wind,
a forest of morse code.
The virgins remove my
white, ashy, gauze
robe so you may
see my silhouette
against the moon.
Their throats are slit and
their blood mingles with the platters
of grain and berries;
those rich red berries saturated in
delicious holy blood.
The drums stop for the wind,
and all I see are frightened faces
melting into one another;
cowards! They run, fast,
back down the mountain,
and leave me here to wait for you.
I watch the wind call your name,
I am as tall as all your trees,
I am dark and powerful,
I am writhing on this splintered pile,
I can hear you coming.
Do you know why they sacrifice
Because I could
And there you are, galloping wildly
through your spring streams;
your face is life itself,
your hair is scorpions,
your blessed hands untie me and
I don’t care where we are going
or what you will do to me,
just do it, do it, go, faster
Havoc! Join us for our bold potluck tonight. May I coax you with an oozing wing of quail?
Would you prefer pomegranate juice or chai? Liquor? Brazen like a king, you vexing Baal.
Vixen, whisper jealously your hazel phlegm; heavy air, like foam in lacquered ballroom cracks.
Always, never: these seem like such things unsung; just speak calm, unfazed, but quiet as a hex.
Milk your harpsichord, like lovers who gaze fixed, at the drab acquired joys of their lost wrecks.