She feeds his starving hands
Closes trembling fingers
Around ripe nectarine *******
The nut hardness of her *******
Make stigmata wounds
That never heal.

She fills his famished mouth
With her lips and tongue
Living Hors d’oeuvres
Marinaded in blood and saliva
Then drives him head first
To graze in the garden south of her navel.

He eats of her fruit
Drinks from her stream
Till he is satiated and spent
His cheeks and chin
A colour field of pulp and nectar
On a canvas of Frankenthaler.


Behind velvet doors
of her private gallery
She mounts him.
He is famished no more.

Cat scratched from sleep
unravelled laundry sacks birth limbs
yawns trumpet yesterday's echo
shofars of Rosh Hashanah
announce today's new year.
The early morning snowfall,
white palm print heavy, wet
blinds fluttering eyelids
still choked with cobwebs
spun in last night's dreams.

The pale smile of winter dawn
elbows a shining path
through white rabbit cotton tails
stacked shoulder to shoulder
peerin through my window
like a hopeful child
with empty pockets
at a candy shoppe
milky breath fogging the glass.

Dying,
as water runs all around me,
singing
like those cool rivers flowing.

Mouth watering duet
It beckons me, and yet,
how can I drink
from the same river twice
when I'm thirsty for something
more from this life?

Carrying my longing
like mustard seeds
to a place of rest
under copse of trees

a dying fire
on the beach
limbs of driftwood
left by the sea.

You can thirst for the ocean
try to swim, you might sink
though you may long for the ocean
you must never drink.

Nuns **** monks
tumble in blood trickling ******
geriatric hymens pierced by withered shafts.

Prometheus unbound
makes a pet of his tormentor
they go hunting.

Parasites
feeding on poets and madman
burst like leeches
pinched mid-draught.

Terrorists
removed from solitary
into the sun
roundly embraced
by maimed survivors of their carnage.

The firing squad squint down their barrels
leaving the flowers
where they are.

Gacy's children
Starkweather's heirs,
met at the gas chamber
are kissed
by every man, woman and child
who lost someone
to their slaughter.

Cerberus weeps
abandons his post for the fields
chases three squirrels
tennis *****
catches none.

He sleeps now
on pillows of sativa
bay laurel
and spathe.

Hours pass.
Mother jiggles pills in her cupped hand.
The coloured stones
clink
clatter
clank
as in the palm of a beady-eyed buyer
at a mineral expo.

Hours scrape by
like the pills mother chokes down
her parched throat.

The sands prescribed by physicians
and pharma-cartels
shape mum like a Gobi dune.

Mum's morning marbles
are washed down with gulps from The Nile.
The Yangtze sits chilling in the fridge
next to bottles of Po.

I find her at noon
recovering pearls like Ama divers
crunching them like seeds
and moaning that the sea
is dry.

I count the hours
Mum can't call to mind.
I count the pills for her
and the hours wither by.

at work in the sandbox
milk toothed Elohim
balance stick, stone and moss
shape continents from dreams

tiny, unfettered fingers
excavate their worlds of sand
things discarded, left to rot
are gold in grimy hands

bark and stones
dead bees and bones
leaves and sleeves
of snakes, outgrown

never too old to learn
never too young to teach
every treasure is swallowed
by the sand on the beach