night: still hot

listening to: grouper

you may find me under the heavy water oh unbearable sweetness holding sleepy eyes and fever wracked chest to my chest and a trembling it is still so hot so hot we sweat--broken heel aching i said picture it

so santa’s drinking a bottle of coke now porches bleed festive i’m not confused i am afraid of the weapon that i bear which i knew not that i bore until last night it dug into my side

i’m not confused my sequins scales caught in a fish net not confused not confused stubble scratching graph onto my neck i do not contemplate all that which i cannot forget you may find me under the heavy water oh disconcerting sweetness

song against sex

And the last one tore a picture
from the pornographic page
and all the pleasure points attacking
all the looks of love were staged
and it's a lie that you've been given
that just hurts you every day
so why should I lie here naked
when it's just too far away
from anything we could call loving
any love worth living for
so I'll sleep out in the gutter
you can sleep here on the floor
and when I wake up in the morning
I won't forget to lock the door
'cos with a match that's mean and some gasoline

you wont see me any more

NMH

where you'll find me now

listening to: on avery island, nmh.


i am so tired my muscles
limp and exhausted from giving birth to so many
stillborn

little hopes

i saw a broken belt i saw a hole in
the chain link just big enough for my
body i wanted to

climb right through

i guess i carry a satchel
of broken babies i guess i am too obvious
i smell like need

that's what they'd say

obvious like the bed behind the
fence made out of a lawn chair blankets
stained with wet mold which no one even

sleeps in now

this is not my home town this is not my
home this is not my home i cannot
smell the seaweed

i cannot smell the sea

where is my sea

contrarily, a dirt sea

dirt sea

the land has known

ashes

has known blood, too

and the muddy barren

fields stick to the 

boy’s throat

i see 

inexplicably 

how he stands holding

a perfect crimson 

apple 

surrounded by his dirt sea

one year with no umbrella

one year with no umbrella meant

wet

cold sadness smearing the frames

of my arms rolling 

down the window of my chest

“i know that you can see through me, you

all” 

i thought i was stained glass wrought

animate by ironic misfired gift

i thought of choking hands i thought

of kissing car windows 

i dreamt and could not keep

from dreaming,

there, that is where he was beat 

with the fishing-pole

sleep was cruel and so too was

his wake

and every bit to do with

being awake

snakes don’t like the rain

they say 

they were cast out of my homeland

they met the ocean 

became kelp

day in, day out

"day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr..."

i had a rather easy--
--but wait
some times what i say
seems only the skin
of truth, and not
the stuff itself

here are some things
which i find funny:
but no,
that feeble movement
is not funny, don't
mock my walk

i could say i'm only
His, the royal
His, but wait--
I do not lend my
caress to a god-king

Day in, day out
I am known by
none, sweet
the anomaly
of my battered
innocence

warmer waters

I. 
a piece of me 
a seashell
palm-held, seen
for the first time
is still there
on the beach


II.
years ago, a dead
cormorant in the sand
was all black
feathers and 
extinguished yearning 
for flight
the beautiful fallen
bird, stilled by 
its death-mystery


III.
i have returned
to the cold shore
recalling
warmer waters