I want to be eternally young as the old wolf,
bearing color of the artic sky in the coat.
gray from birth, and gray on dying day.
with clouds of coal,  mist from the bay.
and that double fur, for seasons harsh,
bespeckled to red, with thawed out marsh.

If I was to die, as my old wolf did,
forever young--in whisker solstice.

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The salty smell of empty arms laughs, laughs
Whipping my hair through the brine
Fingers dancing, raw from the tide
Taste on my tounge, enchanting, romancing me
Shines with moonlight, hides with it
Digging in the sand, gritty between my teeth and knees
Broken glass, slipping from my grasp, blood coursing from my veins
How quiet can my footsteps be?
Walking toward the waves
Lifting, and falling, laughing at me
Eyes twist away, blinking rapidly
Too bright, too bright
Surging, burning, like a wildfire
Bleeding through my skin
Sobs drowned beneath the wind
They cannot hear me now
No time to say goodbye
Just regrets, all regrets for me
Shouldn't have said, away they fly
Cannot say goodbye.
The water laps, cools my skin, embracing me, inviting me
From birth it called, I stalled each time
My hot skin drenced with persperation
Tears and resignation
Cometh, Cometh
Drink from me
I will heal you
I will love you
You will not feel alone any longer
Like a lions roar I stand
Tall and beaten, in the sand
Toes curled, grains scratch skin
Though I can't feel it now
Breathing salty lonliness
Through my nose
I take that first step, foot pointed
Till it aches
The time has come, the Beast awakes
Diving in, and breathing fast
The water coursing through
Reminding me of you
And burning deeper hotter than
The hottest ray of sun
That ever burned whatever Man
Who stood here crying in the sand
Salt leaking in my lips
Drying the cracks
Turning my hips
My chest heaves in
The blood comes out
The stones are banging on my skin
My arms they flail
My eyes wide open
Burning like white flames
Beneath the sun
You're omnipresent
Can't run away
Last drop of empty arms
Grabs hold of me
Hair floating graceful patterns
Neck stretched, alabaster moonlight
And with that dreaded final thought
I desend into the depths of
Briny hate and salty steps
But with a new man on my side
The one who reaches with the tide

We grew up in the muddy puddle
That was our coffee
In a begrimed little café.
We ate in little bites of each other,
Rolled our tongues in our mouths,
Tasted each flavor and each seasoning.
I gulped you down and digested each little mishap of you.
I undid all the sordid belongings residing in your mouth,
You were the embodiment of shame and failure,
And I made it all such a part of my gut,
That I haven’t shaken it off
Thirty years hence.

How did I make it to here?
This is such a foreign rest.
The only familiarity was that,
Which settled around the corners of your eyes,
In the crevices beneath your breasts,
And the clarity of your skin.
There were snacks,
And books.
You had your brown sweater on.
Your moist brow was so restless that day,
That I was reminded of all of my desperation,
All the stories I hurled at myself,
All the children I knew were all right.
Oh Nara,
Your brow vanished all that I held true,
Even you, Nara,
Your brow swallowed you whole.
Oh Nara,
You killed a part of me that day.

You exploded into chemicals,
That stuck onto my skin.
Into hot tea that surprised me every day.
It crept into the jasmine oil smell of her hair.
In the sweat of her neck,
Into our lazy evenings filtered through with years
Of careful exclusion.
Everything I owned was only me
When I was naked, and writhing,
A baby in the womb of something so desperately motherly,
That it forgot to give birth.
She noticed, Nara, she noticed me.
She noticed these hands shaking through everything they did.
And she hid.
She hid into her red, pleated saris,
Into cookbooks and cakes,
Into soft butter, and hardened cookies.
Everything has been seeking to destroy itself since, Nara,
Cigarettes would paper itself into existence.
Now it burns smoke and blindness.
The trees move in fast forward,
They are arthritic fingers
Grasping for something,
Long since out of their reach.
Acid has been running in the veins of this house since years,
The wood is out of place.
The rot in the bamboo tables is only concealed
By the tinted glass.

And sometimes, I sit at the cadaver porch,
You are a mindless zombie of a woman,
Who decides to stay with me,
And leave me alone.
Destruction had become your favourite hobby when you were that real.
When did poetry become so important to you that
You quite forgot me?

baby freckles, barely visible specks of orange burst to the surface
of these great, white lakes. my thighs. you know the ones—
they slap together when I walk.
amazing! the miracle of life on stage before your eyes, my canvas
is a breeding ground of new beginnings. from zygote to fetus
to full sized fucking being in three minutes or less.
gestation has never been so quick and painless!
I give birth some 2600 times a day—amazing!
infants crawl tirelessly on my pasty ginger shell. copper-colored children
with free reign to my body, none quite like another;
more like snowflakes than children.
and they melt away so easily when I abandon the heat of the sun...

I am a mother denied. I mourn my loss.

From Hand to Mouth, A Man Gives Birth


Sometimes the pen, unnecessary.
The poem, fully formed, in his mouth, born.

Silent back labor, unbeknownst the existence
Of such a thing, yet knowing now
His contractions, coming fast and furious,
Eyes many centimeters dilated,
The sac's fluid breaks upon the poet's tongue,
He pronounces in a single breath his
Immaculate Completion

When his hand to mouth, goes,
Like Moses, when he touched the burning coals,
The words are signaled, freedom!
The words announce:
We are now created, conceived and
This new oxgenated atmosphere is now our
final resting place.

This child, the poem, this exhalation,
Once freed, is lost to him,
It's been renamed, retitled,
by hundreds of newly adopted parents as
Ours.

So
When you hear the poet-man exclaim,
I live hand to mouth!

Weep joy by, for and with him,
For his true meaning now clarified,
An ode to joy has
Been birthed this day,
A child for the people.

we sell two albums on itunes if you search loud with love  thank you!



im feeling more comfortable in my own skin
im mostly water and im living
and on the day to day i try my best to sleep
eat, bath, brush repeat

got a little skill, hardly any scrill got alot of opportunity
mostly holes to fill

im grateful though, fortunate, and a fool
comfortable in my skin cuz its how i wanna feel

comfortable in my own skin cuz it's what i got
you cant choose what skin you get at birth so rot
racism needs to die, it needs to bleed
hunger needs to be demolished in the streets
i feel like sometimes im just repeating what some people are saying
but original is what i spray
did the work did the math
my skins just a sack
for my soul to reach
im in discreet
my skin someday will leave me
but for now I'm comfortable in my own skin