I am an earthquake

In the desert

Working the rough sand to settle

In my belly

So that the ache in the pit of my gut

Might lose its shape

These shoulder blades feel like wings sometimes

Too bad these hands are prehensile

Not feathered or webbed

Just full of chemo-quake

And tremble

Unless I can hold your hand

Hold my hand

I’ll reverberate your ***** soul to settle

Till we’ve shaken the dust a firmament

Big enough to stand on

I need redemption enough

That stuck in the filter of my cleansing

Is enough dirt to build a hill to stand on

Forget heaven

When I can stand on the land of my past mistakes

And revel in the beauty I left behind

Don’t get left behind

And don’t go to heaven

Just stay with me in the middle

Where I have managed to compact this broken to solid

Like a ghost in a landfill

Haunt these hollow halls of filth with me

Until ***** is all that’s left

***** is all that is left

I understand that you might want to bathe sometimes

Not everyone can live like I do

Not everyone shares my infatuation

With broken things like I do

Let me get you just a little *****

Let me break you too

Let me recycle our fuckery

Till the filaments fit

I am a “found” artist

Making the broken beautiful

What everyone keeps forgetting

Is that even we are recyclable

And there isn’t anything that cannot be rebuilt

So let me make a new heaven

So that I can be like a ghost

Haunting a landfill

I am a raging river fed by rain.
I flow hard against rocks and logs.
I flood my banks in the springtime
and I seep into valleys.
I catch leaves and seeds during the fall,
and I deposit them southward.
I drift along slowly in the winter.
I feed creeks and mountain streams
and greedy bears and hungry fisherman
and I brought the Grand Canyon down on it's knees.
I am the lifeblood of the mountain.

You can find me in the sweet nectar of the desert cactus.

Wrap your legs around me tonight,

he begs

Whisper to me through the web

His voice huskily beseeches

His eyes breathe pillowtalk whisper

fingertips feel a little bit crisper.

Which web, she murmers hungrily

The heat builds between them

as if there is even an in- between.

The cobwebs on my heart.

He groans and shifts and aches

for her sword of velvet to stab through

his doors of steel

Im a slave to you, you’re my heroine

i’ll shoot you up my arm

help me to feel free.

This I can do , her body replies

and its a kaleidoscope of de ja vu and fresh experience

An ocean view of Woman,

and masculine musk

A grave of endless ******

a playroom of opportunity Soon they can’t drown

they will drag against gravity and greet the sun but for now

it is all they can do to stay

afloat

Two boys
and girls
unclothed each other
simply at a picnic
flush with wine
alongside
sun-flecked trees.

The girls,
easy as the
forest round,
burned,
delicious,
as the boys
eager and nervous
in unequal measure
partly gave up
concealing
their joys
at forgetting
or remembering
in flickers
their bare bodies.

It went on
over nettles
and half-hours
and clambered
trees and
photos taken
almost formally
(on film,
of course).

And boyish lust,
at first sinuous,
a darting tongue,
began to
soften against,
for instance,
the sheer,
unthinkable
texture
of the two
girls carved
now backward
over the bough
of a storm-felled elm.

And there
in the embers
of evening
they learned
to thrill originally
at the vast,
gorgeous
and astonishing
irrelevance
of what
might happen next.