my mother loved me so
she burnt my heart out
before i met you

my father loved me so
he handed me his anger
before i met you

my family loved me so
there was nothing left
when i met you.

Acidic music flowing through us,
From the stage and down into the floor
Vibrations' thin tendrils
Swarming up through thick soled shoes
And into our spines,
Forcing heads to nod
And bodies to sway.
Eyes close in the ecstasy of forgetting
For in that moment
Nothing else can take your mind.
There is sound;
And sound alone.

And you forget that you are all alone
And you forget that you felt anxious
You forget people might be watching
You forget how many drinks you had.

Staged puppet masters,
Make a crowd of grown-up kids
Sway before them.
Children with ******* and beards.
Youths in go-nowhere jobs,
Sleeping on mattresses on the ground
Reading poetry aloud at night
Planning travels in their minds.

***** the young professionals.
We are the left overs of a power hungry generation;
We are just here to hear
And feel
And move.

Is there anything so extraordinary as a hand?

I asked, as I ****** his finger
with a gusto hungry to milk some essence of him
that would nourish me after his body left.

Your divine digits! These brilliant explorers, who
fragile as separate spring shoots, can teach and tell and build what
would last for ever.

If a Renaissance lives, it lives in these hands , these ingenious orchestrations that can musick and paint and sculpt and-

          *-and write?

Yes darling, and that.

I migrated my tongue and attention to his palm and slowly painted his love-line pink, tasting his future.

Do you know, when I was once a little Catholic girl- they would tell their stories in Sunday School and I used to imagine the soul resided somewhere in your belly and felt like chicken noodle soup...

and perhaps not so, perhaps hands are the houses of soul where the most Authentic Self of selves resides waiting to touch, to hold, to caress... where the animal desires of humanity delight in the most truthful communication existing?

        -Then... what is the common language? Id?

Yes, perhaps you're right. And love.

His other hand, jealous of my attention, spoke aloud in a sonnet of pinches and strokes that could have drawn tears of reverence were I not held captive by the decadent finger between my lips.

Between gulps of air he queried my fixation
and with a final holy gasp I testified:

**"Darling, touch is the only transparent sensation"

your ******* face

is there a difference between love
and lust? if you saw it would you
know it?

is there a difference between faith
and trust? if you saw it would you
snort it?

I accost daylight, reviling in the promiscuity of the waken world
Come, be absent with me, enjoy the splendor of the famine
The only pleasure we’ll allow ourselves is that of a despondent heart
As we weaken the bonds that chain us, we’ll destroy ourselves
How can I rationalize my desires, their innocence shames me
To be reprehensible, oh such a glorious way to be
We ran through the streets encased in neon luminance
You, with your hope and rebellion
Me, in awe of you
This truancy, this desolate homage to backroads and swindled affairs
It leaves a longing to wear her fur coat, my makeup soiled beautifully
Those nights of dreams, and dreams, and dreams, resurrect disenchanted
As I lay aching, biting the the cold steel for the knowledge of ones price
The nullity welcomes a confusion, searching for a fragment of familiarity
Wanting and wishing back the stale taste of the endless mornings
I’ll bring with me the calm, the reassurance of futile worth
The length is calculated, the smirking clock relishing in his dismal pace
We trade the dampened moss as the stars scoff at our ignorance
They whisper, piercing the darkness with their reminder
three moons, alas three moons

-Remember each death-
I'm a broken record, replaying
-And never deem days eternal as death-
Words like my teeth are rusted,
Red from the iron in my blood.

-And never deem-
Motor locomotive, spewing
-Days eternal as death-
Old words,
My mouth black with exhaust.

-But it's beautiful-
I am rusted
-You know-

You smell like cigarettes and old books,
Taste like the salt of regret.
Eyes as brown as your leather jacket,
Silence as cold as the night we spent
Laughing and kissing.

I should have known-
The night was so cold and you
Covered my shoulders as if to
Distract me from the ice behind
Your warm embrace.

I should have known-
You only looked me in the eye
When physicality transcended
And you had me in your grasp.
Lust is the only emotion
Eyes don’t betray.

I should have known-
Brown is so warm.
Yet you love the snow.

Perception is reality,
Or your perception is
My reality.
My reality,
Your perception?
Reality, then,
Is perception.

I met myself
Three years ago
Three days ago,
I'm younger now.
Reality, then perception--
No--
Perception, then reality.

I’ll cover the walls of my room
With useless words
With question marks drawn
all over the ceiling.

I’ll cover with pages my heart
Finally silent this fist in my chest
Like paper kills rock,
We’ll die of my words that are yours.

I’ll cover the walls of my room
With all the untold
But now there’s no room on the walls,
Anymore.