The pen is poised, impatient for inspiration to strike.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
As red light, give way to nodding. My feet
feel lonely with only each other and my eyes flit
Through the darkness, owl-like. 'I am body heat,'
I say. 'I can do this, radiate alone.'
I ignite my pride and roll onto my back.
I can still smoke up there on my throne,
But for once I'd like to kick back and relax.
Down here I can be, just part of the night.
Free to sit still, to smoke and to cry.
Eyes, smooth as pearls, are agape but
Do not blink. Silent and blind, horses
Flitter by, their wings flashing midnight,
Hooves scratching milky ribs, the skin
Turning glitter-rough and heartbeat red.
There are strawberries littering my palms
Like constellations I can't make out.
I know what this is, I can feel it:
The hoping eyes, the twitching mouth,
The breast sighing like a wave, heavy
With desire. I know what this is, and
Then shards of an Apple strike me like bullets;
I grow tight as my hands grope for a way out.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
in its faded glow.
Still secrets swim, suspicious and sore and
Much too smart for fishermen.
nothing to itch hits seven years late. Skin is tight,
S t r e t c h e d like a smile
Under hands that are hungry and weak.
There is laughter between my legs
As I reach for something I do not understand.
Morning lips find me, draping like ivy but I
wince, coffee bitter, though I should be
open to this, since it’s been
a while since I’ve had a spoonful of
As if there's a piano on your skin.
Fingers banging naughty notes
That shouldn't make sense.
But I do.
Stripes of bruises glow
Black on your thigh,
Eight kisses deep,
Each chased by a sigh.
The key to your smile changes, but your laughter is cheap;
its bitterness pounds off the glass ceiling.
When I point at
it, it thins
I catch 22 mirrors on my tongue.
I count white lies to seduce sleep.
I don't want to dream.
But I do.