Stark tree, reaching To an endless sky. A livery of black wings Yawning beaks, gimlet eyes. Wings crash in cold air Lifting as one, a blackness Folding into the night
Month: June 2017
noJab V’s the cdc
the leaves returned, and left, without my noticing. in summer they hide the mountains. passion-noticed once I thought would be my leafage, being Hollywood -diminutive, & fond of the mirror’s two-page definitive guide- a leave-her-gasping kind of looter. afterwards, maturer, I wanted…always wanted—a thing of Zenful actualness… but what a painful task! is easier to…
communion
In the dark I’m remote from what you call Personality. Nothing but nerve and guts like flowers that shoot, up when you enter the room and I’m yours if you want. For an hour, a minute. All night I can do nothing; text the dead, fix the gap of door/ and jamb. In the…
Deny Hope
The more absorbed by it The further away we become Inside we are tearing a deaf scream Inside we realize we are the ones that are confused But we fail to consciously acknowledge it You can see it I can tell I will belong to you The cut of your dress To look you in…
work
We hurled it up off the floor. 10 foot high/ four across. Like a crucifix. It was. I’d driven in from Damascus. 6-inch bloody nails. The first: the head bent on the third blow so I had to claw the cunt off and Jimmy’s giving me shit: hit the fuckin thing straight. Christ…
A Man’s Smile
There was metal in his leg and his back So it was an effort to make boats he could not sail. He used his little strong hands to cut and shape toi toi. He pulled out the fibre and made outriggers and masts, And from a spiky mast flew a red spotted sail. And the…
creation story
In the beginning, she smiled & said Hello. It might have been nothing. But by the 6th day, I was on her bed, the long grass by the river, taking in the scent of her hair which is like honey it’s true, & her skin and the pink between her thighs… Sandalwood, Royal Blue, her…
a painter reflects
a painter reflects to Klingsor of ‘Klingsor’s Last Summer’ by Hermann Hesse for me the loveliest lovers were the landscapes the aged the young naked in sun or shower and no obvious face to stare you down in disdain to question your eyes and whatever right you might or might not have to even…
no god
He caught me in the dark room stood, a disused lamp, cornered; saw thru, understood, as god would, subjectively. But no-one ever knows what I think as my pen scores the page. I’m alone: not like when I’m by the river tho, dark after the funeral, or in a crowd, where an inner eye still…
Voicelessed
I can’t tell you what I’m seeing, groups of thug youths, with real, sex and violence on their minds, all over me hitting shop windows with fists a toddlers drum, perfectly contained “Beautiful Bitches’ spat from one of the innocents looking for all the action they can handle, the street out side mcdonalds, as mainstream…
worry of love
*‘worry’ of love *either as in ‘worry about’ or ‘bother’ near the school mothers worry their children across the road at the gate a mother worries her daughter’s hair into place a father his son’s jacket a boy runs to worry his friend from the same class up ahead a young man worries his girlfriend…
moral luck
hear us. score across yr skin. understand: we’re poor but.. content. even if you fix us good; give that we must live. you, I’m sure, care even less.