her classroom breath her boney cheek a child groins my cottoned hip river banks the tint of clay rock and flowers the wind devours blossom, ripped, resisting holds, vivid vivid blood on gi. cut from cheek to chin as I fell into his hand misreading what his move was the bleeding stopped another girl goes…
The Tron
The river gurgles deep, Although from the warrant-of-fitness station, I cannot see it. Concrete and steel. “Look here! Look at that!” Calls a boy in an army surplus shirt. Oil in the drain. “That’s the river! It goes right there!” Pointing downwards with his index finger. That night, after the admonition, A mihi…
comunità
you need a swift kick & told to keep moving. better to spend yrself than to suck the dugs of the last half century. it comes spectacular, the destruction of the world. theatre. when satan fell, for instance – what a fucken day that was! planets wandered & the stars did nothing, nailed to…
Haruspex Rex
Absolved across the vast pearl of a horse’s hide, you flung from its eye and burst in like a bad neighbour overbears on brittle moments to where there is only me: runes, ruins, landscapes beyond the skin outwit by a wisdom of hips, deep into my liver’s wet stars. Tiny maelstroms of joy run slick…
The Freesias
There’s mockery in the freesia’s gruesome balm, perennial bells giggle a divine perfume that taunts the shedding skin of winter-tide winds, it cloys like the clock-handed grip of tick-tocks trickling down the back of each gust – their petals crushed; bruised, feathery cherubs shield stamen-eyed babies and ripen to the doomful horns I decapitate at…
Remembering Joseph Kühtze
Expired blue cans of Rheineck. Left overs from a secret Santa gift. Only four would fit in the cheap blue chilly bin. Jimmy had just turned eighteen, stoked to get a chilly bin of beer. I ended up firing him later that year. So there’s still two blue cans cheap faux-Germanic even the schlöss can’t make…
thirst
thirst i thirst for the w a t e r that lay s ________________________the sk y bac k under the o a r under the stroke of d a r k that r i ses on the s m o o t h the sk y a dance down in blue i thirst for the…
Pre-Cortex Lands #4
1 I’d planned to sleep in but I was wide awake at five so I teased the mortal seam churning a little, thinking of all the girls I’ve spanked, before rising, sprung as a catapult & stood against the wall three recent paintings. water had found a way to let itself in through the unfinished…
from Pre-Cortex Lands #3
caution: erotic content XV trunk at the base, grinding home animal sounds and overtones grass fronted, the wetness, she moans eye contact, blue on yellow/brown showing him that, in skirt, while squatting to his hat, putting her number on the stone on top of the notes. will reply he nods, mouth pushed in against the…
Lung in Lingua.
Inspiration is as vital as the conspiracy of muscles to aid a traffic of vapours, and rouse the artful glee of strings; a sympathy of ligaments composed to perch primly as the peregrine, or burgeon from beneath like noble cultivars of evergreen. Expiration is as fated as the terrestrial grace and grit of reclusive afternoons,…
Around the Square
Deliberately dirty brown cheap streets. On the road to prison. No state houses on this board buddy. No benefits in the pile. No opportunity denied due to colour or gender. Just the roll of the die. False hope teases in the corner. There’s no such thing as a free park. Taxes and mortgages…
Divergent.
A new freckle marks a fresh trajectory, charting the northern bounds in memory to the death-mask purity of destination; the sinuous curve of that harbour is a covert smile for sleep in the gauzy, fertile fogs of that wildwood; but it fares foul with deciduous friends, who – in the green shade of their angels…