conquer me
with your words,
for I am a poet
     of soul
my mind as open
as my spread thighs
my lotus aching
to welcome
your sword of gold
Unsheathe.
Come close.

until there is no light
between us
for inside grows
a luminance,
             ever-burning
as sharp as ghost pepper
as soothing as
spilt milk
on petalsilk skin
as nourishing as
the stillness
of secret ponds
let us spin our tongues
into lava flowers
as we call forth courage
from the sunken
mists
   of
       time

When I was younger
I slept in the top bunk
over my older brother

- Pretty soon we’re all going to die -
he was fond of saying
while we listened to Credence
Clearwater Revival on an old turntable
with a penny he taped to the arm
to make it sound like a $100

Pretty soon he got me saying the same
words, like moon, mosquitos and darkness
were in his ear, he’d have dreams of
naked women washing his feet
and sparrows looking out of his eyes

He hollered at old man death
when he was wanting some shuteye

- Nobody on earth is like me -
he’d wake up shouting not meaning
to disturb my sleep

He said - I am the white piano
they threw off the bridge -
- the snake bed and the shade tree -
- I am something, yes-sir-eee -

- I’m something not everybody wants
to believe - he’d say sipping on whiskey
bought from a woman up the holler

He told death to - kiss his white *** -
then holler at me to get out of bed
and go trim the grass around the stone
angels planted up in the high pasture.