Sunday, April 26, 2009

a diseased mind

something is stirring....

Friday, April 17, 2009

not naught nor oft

well the gutted lawn made a lovely host for my family trees silkworm hollows. foreign limbs twenty years dead touching spaced out teeth of a picket fence, frowning along the northern slopes of the dunes that cradle the limp body of my family's first prophet.
so it is said, my life line begins with a dead rabbit, as byzantine or pretentious as that may sound
only, i was birthed from a wood stove to find a room filled with an uncertain heaviness. no blood to define how i came from both land and sea, only the paw prints of my father pressed firm into the palm of my hand. my house of leaves, my hand, my home, swallowed by the sea.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

alices forgiving feet

sex on alices feet under hessian moons in central park
we're falling apart into paisley leaves resting on copper sadle shoes
nine years ago i swung on her arms while dreaming of lamb shaped clouds
now my dogwood lashes scrape a moan from your vermouth tongue while we reach into giant teacups to drink the lead wine
i can swallow you down, translate tasteless pleasures of making love in secret to sunsets at dawn reflected off a caterpillars mirrored belly
the water doves are calling our names from lazy pearl ships whose captain and crew see inside out with eyes of dyslexia
"the child! the boy! she's three men at once, living heads of a siamese beastie!"
what cherishable perishable childish things the wicked virgins become when lured beneath a metal tree with the pulsing smile of a dubloon sun
i've never watched those girls dance round' come summer, come meadows. come hard, just withered away under your ancient kiss with my dress hung on a clothes line strung across park avenue south
the solstice soldiers come marching in, brass buttons eyes, dry wall hide, they're coming to soil budding girlies
i dreamt of lambs chasing wolves over absinthe soaked clouds in manhattan, awoke to you running a sleepless marathon over the landscape of my body
the captain called out "slim pickins this year."with a nod as he crept back into my mind while looking out over burnt wood hearts through a fruited cornacopia
it all wound down, until statues were just statues
and we fucked like ragdolls on alices forgiving feet

Friday, April 10, 2009

my mind is dry

i am a ghost
i am unwound lace
the tenderness of sleep;
a silk thread

i am the devils best flaw

Monday, April 6, 2009

new york replaced my soul with a handful of pennies that i tossed down the drain in a bar between bowery and prince

Friday, April 3, 2009

daisychains or carbon

we are bred with the worst intentions

we bless our beds, christen this home, rape our daughters, then comb their hair

the child, the womb, goodnight little lamb, tonight we speak with the softness of wolves