It is good

to have the eyeliner pencils on the sink,

leg razors in the shower,

yellow underwear on the tile.

It is good

to hear her quietly snore

as her feet barely touch mine.

It is good

to eat chicken and corn,

and leave for work in the morning

with a kiss.

It is good

to make love when we can

and dream about it on the days we can't.

Secret thoughts like raindrops

on the rings of Saturn,

things forever lost

float into mind

on rivers of golden words

written with budding lips,

scribbled by satirically serious fingers,

or pounded with mechanical keys,

portable, painful, with ribbon tedious to thread.

My darling Olive

with your boxy frame,

sky white skin

and sticky fingers.

how methodical and slow

our fighting dance.

How joyful

the new agonies that await us.

Joyful new crimes, joyfully jogging type bars, joyfully resisting

joyful beneath

Shuddering, trembling,

flowing over with sweat and *******.

Pulling men to flame

ripping off their wings

Ripping men into

meandering, lost thought vehicles,

perpetual machines of confusion and shame.

Ripping men into ribcages,

pulling at the sinew

until we actually have become moths.

Flesh turned inside out

With the smallest words imaginable.

Men slunk to sand

With the smallest words imaginable.

Determination set to dust

with the smallest words imaginable.

Women shredding men into typewriter ribbons,

with the smallest words imaginable.

“I Hate You”

pulling cupboards out of walls,

breaking bathroom faucets,

“I Love You”

pulling the skin off

like socks.

Ol’ Pete

had his youthful strings swaying

bird had its questioning flute

Duck, the sad, wobbling oboe

Cat the quickening clarinet

Kettles made their blasts

And the wolf

Ahhh the wolf

Loomin', lumberin ', and French

That ****** wolf had it all

And I've got my noisy type bars

And My beer caps

A dangerous place indeed

French horn sounds take a lazy drink

Boys like me ‘n’ Ol’ Pete

Aren’t afraid of the woods

Everything was quiet

Then the terror set in.

Oh Intangible Tabernacle of imagined ****!

Oh Great Exodus!

Women walk passed my window

strange nurses, warm and wondrous

something to observe, something to carry.

Daydreams wayward outside my window

Stranded on islands of tile

A Tangent reality, a symptom, something to sift through..

Legs.

Playing the tapes all the way through

to pain, to the dismissal of problems, exiles,

weekends away.

A thousand moments flood my mind

All with different legs and faces.

With bloodstains in her jeans, ***** clothes stacking

Command, control, cuckoldry

Wanton sigh from a hundred imposing thighs

Play out to cold shower days and nights.

Play out to passive aggressive pacifism.

Breathing together, bending together,

Breaking together, with elegance.

Blossoms played out to bloodlettings.

Gone with all the ones who came and went

In befores,

Heads that laid ‘pon my chest before

Sighed hauntingly, trust like saccharine

Played out to stolen hearts dripping strychnine

Wondering now the wandering roses

Hopes laid like Eucharist in them

To only find ourselves sinking

Invested, stuck, separated.

The wondrous women

waltzed passed my window

and I do not wish them to return.