I sowed your name unto my wrist in red thread
So the devil knew who I belonged to and who would come

Dear nightingale, won't you sing to me your sweet song?
As I watch the moon cast it's shadow unto your tainted wings?
I want to be absorbed in a world of your tune
Dancing until the sun allows us

he craves online hook-ups.


But this isn't me
nor am I that intrepid        
a torrent trampoline
                   on wireless ether engines
                   cyber silver surfin'
zone on / in  .nets & .coms
                   searching fiber-optics for sight
browsing rooms of M4M / in-fantasized delights

an itch to fix
to sit transfixed
as if
subliminally attached
                           umbilically
digitally digitized digi-man
                            to a electronic felatio soundtrack

yet all the while detached
                            lurking duplicitly
reading pretend profiles  explicitly
for ***, sexified mind
dreaming up new fetishes
with misspelled texts
                        tandem testimonials as if written
                        by a Compaq-machine-head
                        Microsoftened lust
currents electric now as we turn into dust
with iBooks & faraway Dells on our laps
scrolling lists for Adams
status' with "anything goes"
                        remonstrating our vicious cycle
alive & blank with un/trust
gone viral...

this isn't me.

where is the warmth
       of feelings, emotions,
malleable and infallible / love??

I am not as talented
as he
          to be in two places at once,
but he
          has the many faces
and genius of multiple personalities
Cybil
facets
   of sabotage with Mommy Dearest grace.
        Beautiful strangers his acquired
              taste...

he says it was not him
(doing ****)

my rage has only one trait.
two eyes                              (once wide asleep in the lies)
and velvet-rope-burned
wrists
my feet learn to fly
my heart un-breaks
my wings reanimate...


he has too many faces
doppleganger hatred
none to care for or embrace

When did I go blind,
         and leave my many strengths?
Where do I now
again
begin??

(The rubble or the sin?)


Every night adieu
Every day anew
                                        once again...

a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.

I am one
but I feel like
four- the stable
Form on all legs-

How is it there in tomorrow?
It is good and I am
well and the legs of
the table don't wobble

In three there
is no resolution.
A compromise exists
and connects the opposites.

But no one sits
on a three legged chair.
No one fits in a trinity
excluding humanity

My four is my
Lord and the
Three is in me

Some relief
from the
breaking bond
of oxytocin

I had a special pencil,
I swear it was the best.

The drop was accidental,
And sadly now pointless.

French language has no direct translation for "I miss you." Instead, it is "tu me manques" which literally means "you are missing from me."

Missing,
as in Removed,
as in Absent.
As in ribcage
with one bar gone.
As in bathtub for one.
As is poetic justice,
or returning home
to a broken toaster
and a goldfish with its belly to the sun.

As in waking up in Brooklyn
to find you already in Manhattan.

Each night
I drop my bed a little lower on its frame.
The mattress a little closer to the floor.

Makes mourning
feel less like falling.
And falling,
more like reassembling.