After long dark,
you can find me in my mind;
taming serpents; kissing girls.
You may not understand
why I've been the way I am.
You're under-educated
and that's only half your fault.

Sometimes I am imprisoned
within the waves of an ocean
that always misbehaves --
but it's not my fault; just the
way the god rolls: making halves
and making wholes.

After the short syrup of light,
you can find me hiding, true;
pulling off ticks; kissing boys.
You may not comprehend
the way I'm fumbled together.
You're under-educated
and that's only half your fault.

Always I am imprisoned
within the crash of culture;
my thoughts treated like worms;
my illnesses considered contrived.
But it's not my fault; just the
way you guys roll: ignoring halves
for conventional wholes.

STRICTLY FOR THE BIRDS

red bra on line
a blue ***
in each cup

At this late hour
We tarry over tea and
Enchase each other

it was one of those crazy hot days in the dead of summer.
i remember because of the sweat that poured down my skin
and the way my eyes squinted as the bright sun shone.
i massaged my neck nervously, my mouth twisted into a grimace.
ya see, i’ve always been weak, especially when it comes to you.
so what i was readying myself to do, i knew, would be too much.
but i had to let you go as the rays of sunlight baked my skin and
my head began to ache from how hard i was squinting, grimacing.
i said goodbye, as my heart raced, either from the heat or the pain.

Someday if you are lucky, you'll return from a thunderous journey, trailing snake scales, wing fragments, and the musk of the earth and moon.
Eyes will examine you for signs of damage or change and you too will wonder if your skin shows traces, of fur or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest in your hair.
If Andromeda burns from your eyes.
Don't be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit  their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own potential, who barely dream.
If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wildcry, a howl, you will reasure them.
We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all. Just this frantic waiting to die.
And yet they will tremble, mute, afraid you've returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language.
No teach them without compass bearing to a forgotten boarder where no-one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies and granite and stone.
They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear.
Your secret is dangerous, shattering and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they-like-you-must-dis-intergrate
Before unfolding tremendous wings.

In the still of your
voice,
under each roll of your
tongue,

in between breathes,
after every gasp.

I find myself drifting off
from dark corners
into the brightest gathering
of your mind,

speak to me slowly,

so I can watch your lips compose
an angelic symphony
I am helpless
to
resist.