many words act like a disease
diseased tongues
licking stamped poems
to send out stinging tentacles
into a world inoculated against love

It is hard to walk with only one hip.
The other is attached to my lover
and it feels like I’ve put it on layaway.

Week after week making small deposits to get it back
and yet to find, years later, I have only begun to pay down the interest.

Ten fingers
went to tend her
garden of buttons:

The right hand kisses cheeks
with Mr. **** and then greets
The Twins with a tender twist,
as the **** on the door when

He comes,
and we lay atop each
other to be a team—of beams
of light strobing across some sheets
of ice, maybe—with steadily raised stats

The full moon holds no-more romance
just looks lonely in a sky full of stars
and the madness she brings no longer touches me
I am far too solid, my heart colder than ice
My heart will not break anymore, this side of the grave

Some use their brain like a muscle
those are the ones to avoid, if possible

and how many Bees have lived and died
while you enjoyed the fruit of their labour.

Blood drunk maniacs are thirsty
and another war is right up their street.

When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.