Rhymes sweetly, but can me a
***** my finger won't I still bleed.
Times toughen, and kick me in my
As trees grow, life will reseed.

Walks manly, and scratches my
Ball's in your court, bounce my way.
Talks fanning flames, I don't give a
Dam for beavers, I shall not stray.

Words come faster, so call me a
******* looking for his father
Figure me out in your secret mind
****, get out, look for another.

my mind is weary that
it has painted every blushing cheek
that I have ever kissed
every pair of lips
I may have dreamt them up
but with each heavy thought
I sink deeper in my flesh
and I'm deep with you
we need a new head rush
a vacation for a daze or two
we'll lay sand at the bedside
and find that each morning's an ocean
and the tide will tell us
how the future doesn't exist
maybe my brain will grow fonder
of what my heart likes

I want lavender hair
and rose pedal eye lids
I want that crushed apple kiss
in the neighborhood park
I want to find myself somewhere
I’ve never been
in a movie,
in a feeling,
in an absence.

I want broken memories
and mix tapes to track them
I want that lunar light to ravel
in my hair, in my nails
I want to loose myself somewhere
I can be safe
in a book,
in a kiss,
in an ocean.

I want whispered feelings
and warm skin constellations
I want that empty feeling
in a sleepless evening
I want to fill myself with something
I can hold on to
in a secret,
in a soul,
in a lifetime.

The face of the precipice is black with lovers;
The sun above them is a bag of nails; the spring's
First rivers hide among their hair.
Goliath plunges his hand into the poisoned well
And bows his head and feels my feet walk through his brain.
The children chasing butterflies turn around and see him there
With his hand in the well and my body growing from his head,
And are afraid. They drop their nets and walk into the wall like smoke.

The smooth plain with its mirrors listens to the cliff
Like a basilisk eating flowers.
And the children, lost in the shadows of the catacombs,
Call to the mirrors for help:
'Strong-bow of salt, cutlass of memory,
Write on my map the name of every river.'

A flock of banners fight their way through the telescoped forest
And fly away like birds towards the sound of roasting meat.
Sand falls into the boiling rivers through the telescopes' mouths
And forms clear drops of acid with petals of whirling flame.
Heraldic animals wade through the asphyxia of planets,
Butterflies burst from their skins and grow long tongues like plants,
The plants play games with a suit of mail like a cloud.

Mirrors write Goliath's name upon my forehead,
While the children are killed in the smoke of the catacombs
And lovers float down from the cliffs like rain.

  dedicated to Rene Magritte *

An image of my grandmother
her head appearing upside-down upon a cloud
the cloud transfixed on the steeple
of a deserted railway-station
far away

An image of an aqueduct
with a dead crow hanging from the first arch
a modern-style chair from the second
a fir-tree lodged in the third
and the whole scene sprinkled with snow

An image of a piano-tuner
with a basket of prawns on his shoulder
and a firescreen under his arm
his moustache made of clay-clotted twigs
and his cheeks daubed with wine

An image of an aeroplane
the propellor is rashers of bacon
the wings are of reinforced lard
the tail is made of paper-clips
the pilot is a wasp

An image of the painter
with his left hand in a bucket
and his right hand stroking a cat
as he lies in bed
with a stone beneath his head

And all these images
and many others
are arranged like waxworks
in model bird-cages
about six inches high.