Somebody is shooting at something in our town --
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?

It is you the knives are out for
At Waterloo, Waterloo, Napoleon,
The **** of Elba on your short back,
And the snow, marshaling its brilliant cutlery
Mass after mass, saying Shh!

Shh! These are chess people you play with,
Still figures of ivory.
The mud squirms with throats,
Stepping stones for French bootsoles.
The gilt and pink domes of Russia melt and float off

In the furnace of greed. Clouds, clouds.
So the swarm ***** and deserts
Seventy feet up, in a black pine tree.
It must be shot down. Pom! Pom!
So dumb it thinks bullets are thunder.

It thinks they are the voice of God
Condoning the beak, the claw, the grin of the dog
Yellow-haunched, a pack-dog,
Grinning over its bone of ivory
Like the pack, the pack, like everybody.

The bees have got so far. Seventy feet high!
Russia, Poland and Germany!
The mild hills, the same old magenta
Fields shrunk to a penny
Spun into a river, the river crossed.

The bees argue, in their black ball,
A flying hedgehog, all prickles.
The man with gray hands stands under the honeycomb
Of their dream, the hived station
Where trains, faithful to their steel arcs,

Leave and arrive, and there is no end to the country.
Pom! Pom! They fall
Dismembered, to a tod of ivy.
So much for the charioteers, the outriders, the Grand Army!
A red tatter, Napoleon!

The last badge of victory.
The swarm is knocked into a cocked straw hat.
Elba, Elba, bleb on the sea!
The white busts of marshals, admirals, generals
Worming themselves into niches.

How instructive this is!
The dumb, banded bodies
Walking the plank draped with Mother France's upholstery
Into a new mausoleum,
An ivory palace, a crotch pine.

The man with gray hands smiles --
The smile of a man of business, intensely practical.
They are not hands at all
But asbestos receptacles.
Pom! Pom! 'They would have killed me.'

Stings big as drawing pins!
It seems bees have a notion of honor,
A black intractable mind.
Napoleon is pleased, he is pleased with everything.
O Europe! O ton of honey!

Haunched like a faun, he hooed
From grove of moon-glint and fen-frost
Until all owls in the twigged forest
Flapped black to look and brood
On the call this man made.

No sound but a drunken coot
Lurching home along river bank.
Stars hung water-sunk, so a rank
Of double star-eyes lit
Boughs where those owls sat.

An arena of yellow eyes
Watched the changing shape he cut,
Saw hoof harden from foot, saw sprout
Goat-horns.  Marked how god rose
And galloped woodward in that guise.

pure pleasure prairies me
amongst pastures and me filly Polly
posies  pretty poignant paradigm
of Palominos rhyme and rhythms
play me pictures posting and posing for
me pretty filly Polly
prancing let me see her
lil' sassyfrass haunched up back
please
lay me pleasantly out on pink pastures
my days a paradise visage

a Petunia pasted poster all portraiting
perfect pure pasture and
me pretty filly,
Polly.

A leaking clock keeps you
nose up with eyes peering
through night-flooded sky
towards glow-in-the-dark
stars, childhood mementos,
to keep those other shapes

from seeping in, like snakes
slinking over drawers when
they were socks left hanging,
or a hand haunched achingly
through the wardrobe door
was only a shirt sleeve, but

now light escapes the curtains,
becomes a silhouette of a man
out of the second-floor window.
It's ok, you remind yourself.
You roll your head over to
drink, drink, drink in the ticks.

In the year I discovered baseball
I stumbled on my brother's marbles.
I begged Jim out of a few and he
showed me how to make my thumb a trigger.

Soon I was checking out at Woolworths
with my pockets a couple of quarters lighter
but otherwise enriched by
several "purey's", a pair of "cat's eyes",
a largish agate as black as anthracite
and a pull string carry sack.

At home I lined them up in rows
admiring their reflections
on the glass top table.
I held my favorite cat's eye" to the light
(The diadem of my molded treasure trove)
However  did that orange swirl get inside?

Whistling through the playground
I joined a group of older kids
haunched around a circle
etched in the summer dust
with marbles clustered in the center.

Not to be left out I said,
"I've got marbles."
Before I had a chance to question why,
My orange diadem was in the center

Then WHACK, another marble sent it
flying out beyond the rim
and the shooter stuffed it in his sack.

I yelled,"Hey, that's my marble"
"Not no more, kid, the game is 'keeps'".
"What's 'keeps' I asked?"
"It means you lose"
and everyone laughed but me.

I scooped up the balance of my treasury
and left the circle quick -
(I dared not show my ***** tears).

So I left the cruelty of that dusty circle
sadder but just a little wiser
and never played for keeps again!

Well, not in marbles anyway.

October, 2013

It was a long day of hating myself for eating
It was a day filled with crying, trying to throw up
Haunched over the toilet after the smoothie
After dinner
After the countless snacks, I had
Each time retreating to the bathroom
Tired of being empty but afraid of being full
When you caught me getting into the french fries
It was going to be my last snack I swear
My stomach was grumbling and just needed something I swear
I was going to dispose of it as soon as I finished
I took as little as I could so you wouldn't notice
I was craving it and craving it
I put them on my plate so many times today just to empty them back into the bag
And sigh and cry because I gained the last pound back from the big gulps of cold water I downed
Makes me wonder if I should have thrown that up too
I didn't want you to know because I was embarrassed
I shouldn't be eating like that
So much
Wasting so much
But I can't stop being hungry
And no matter how hard I try
I can't seem to not hate myself after I do it
I'm sorry I'm trying to fix it
I just don't know how to stop
I'm trying to not eat so I don't waste anything
But it's hard when you're hungry
And you're mouth waters
You just wonder when normal will be enough
When 1,000 calories won't feel like poison coming in and going out
When you're greedy eyes won't take too much, your stomach can't hold
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I don't know if my trying is enough
But I just can't stop hating myself
Today is hard
I think I threw up my anti-depressant too

March 10, 2013
you smiled at me today
i remembered all the stories you wrote me
still hung in the closet where we painted the stars
and then i thought about how heavy my heart grew
when none of your stories were about me
but mine where of you
i hope they're in your sock drawer with my old tie die shirt
and tonight i'm dying all over for you

March 17, 2013
you find yourself in a room
pretending not to immensely alone
surrounded by people
who are pretending to not feel immensely alone
are you alone?

March 29, 2013
you aren't the people you surround yourself with
you are not the things you feel when you are alone
(repeat)

April 24, 2013
we are born empty
life spent fill ourselves with
knowledge and the more palpable
michelangelo
artist mind, with a poets heart
maybe the bubble of everything that he was
was too full with thoughts and wonder to fit any things or humans
he died alone, in a slum, with his golden nothings
and maybe thats all that loneliness is,
the overflowing thoughts in our heads

April 26, 2013
i've realized that i'm okay
the trees are blooming beautiful baby greens
the sun is shining so sweetly
the breeze whispering my name

May 1, 2013
everyday is drifting by
and i'm wrapped up
in this sickeningly sweet
numb half way happiness

May 17, 2013
you watched slurred words
haunched over the dance floor
everyone laughed, but you just starred with pursed lips
you were ashamed, and i hope you're sorry
for snapping me in two

May 19, 2013
i awoke next to a strange boy the other day,
light pounding on eyelids with the 6:30 sunrise
how is it possible to feel so alone with someones arms
wrapped so tightly around you.
i fell asleep next to him holding his face
mind and stomach churning
and i've kissed a lot of pretty strangers,
but none like the one i loved and knew so well

Haunched in the shower-corner
Down with the demons
A darkness so bright eyelids shut,
Clamped, seized up in a scream
Water gushes over -- maybe tears? --
A redness configuring around the
Edges, behind the eyes, No, just
The fake fluorescent lighting that
Suffocates this small shower.
Bulb-bright blearing blares out:
She lives as a conduit.
She can't -- Maybe won't? -- Hear
Me rattling about inside her.
"Poor *******" she calls me pityingly.
She's a conduit, her life lived out
Beleaguered by glimpses, images,
That she's determined to keep down.
Thrown into a Heraclitean
Fire, screaming, laughing, tumbling,
It's behind her eyes.

Aptitude, palms cover face
Slicked back hair, shower-
Drenched rosemary and mint.
An attempt. Ocean mist body wash --
She reaches up her fingers
From deep sea seaweed imaginings
Amphibious dark green soap bubbles
Please wash it all away. Rinse & Repeat.
Should I intervene? Remember:
Outside fresh rain brings the
Smell of worms to the soggy
Puddle muddied grass
But in here, in this warm fort of
Fuzz, Marlboros spread scent like
Burnt coffee permeate goose
Pricked skin
Down taste-buds Down throat
Down limbs Down fingers
Down --
It can't be scrubbed out --
You try but the red returns
In patches on your skin
Maybe friction or water heat.

But it's there, red, blotchy,
Raised, fluorescent reminders.
Pupils red, hangups, red,
Late-night, stay-up, crying, can't
Sleep, red, red.
Red.
The steady stream of water
Brings her crashing again I am
Losing to her skills of suppression
She has so many questions,
I catch them. I hang on, I ask
And she doesn't listen, a
Broken wire perhaps a frayed
Circuit board I say look at your
Body, the beauty, she can't.
Her nakedness mocks her
All she sees is blasphemy all
She sees is lies.
I drown, I'm poured out of
A bottle into a wine glass
Red, mottled, the image in her head.

She wears a straw cap &
Flowered bodice
Leaning an ironic angle against
A patio railing talking to god knows
Who in a brown hat
Picking grapes off the vine
Plopping them under her lips
The seductive "O" giggling
A thin gossamer veils the
Scene, the tablecloth laughs
At me, the cheese grimaces,
The smoke mimics, and all the
People glance knowingly over their
Shoulders.

I am swallowed in a gulp.

She is dizzy.
"It's the wine" I say, she doesn't hear.
Turns off the shower.
The chrome handle winks against
The porcelain tacky white walls
And wretches at the sandy pink
Flooring.
Off. On. Off.
Red fades away, blue veins like
Lizards perk up against her
Filmy white thighs and the
Backs of her hands.
She scoffs. Faintly thinks of betrayal.
Barely hears me.
She walks naked past the mirror
Refusing to look.
Feeling sick.
-- I've betrayed her maybe? -- I'm not
Who hurt her. I don't understand.
Curled up, bed, wringing hands.
Prepares herself for the day.
She is a conduit. She is okay.

you grabbed ahold of my spine
clawed and kicked and climbed
all over my haunched back
all the way to the top
into my skull
into my inner ear
inside all the meat, and veins, and nerves
where you sit with your little golden hammer
and you hit that angry bell
and mad sick pictures
mad sick ****, ring out    
               ring, ring, ring
ringing out the sound of shame
mad sick pictures that i ***** all over
myself, and maybe others?
you and your little ******* hammer
working that angry ******* bell
working on the worst of me
all stuffed into one singular note

A winter simpleton
haunched wind free
brash the toiling pressures.

I look at the sky and "imagine" all the worms
I see the points of light and they are just One stress or another
Pushing against my tattered brain
On the pestilence knotting right against
My amygdala
I can only see them in the corners of my eyes
I draw my hands to the sky and my pulse drips between my wrists.
I am raining blood and no one has cared
For at least a decade.
It's just an idea that gnaws at me when I sleep
Or drink myself to death while everyone watches

A tall haunched over nothing with red eyes telling me to be
Still
For the sake of everyone I
Love
When I see them on the outside they creep in
Talking to me about family and blood
A fuzzy inhaled nightmare vice
Falling like snow
All over my mind

There she stood delphic in the night’s mist,
Bewitching, with beauty not seen afore.
Hair black as the raven and thick as the forest;
Her emerald eyes glistening in the light of her mother.

For she is the daughter of moon and tide,
Forever purged of shackles and earthly ties.
Betrothed to the woods she wanders wild,
With the sounds of panting breath and ethereal cries.

Padding lightly now; through the night she’ll roam,
Extended claws gripping the rain drenched mud.
From her mouth secrets form in spit and foam,
Baring fangs – a wraith of white baying for blood.

Her cheeks flushed to the colour of damask,
Haunched on slender hinds for her nightly prowl;
Hunting down the sun, she would devour at each dusk.
For she was the wolf, and to the moon she’ll howl.

.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
life
it’s daughter love
and all the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀waters
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀stars
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀earths­
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
is
like a
bowl of flint⠀⠀ it has been like this
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀still
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀quiet
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀­⠀⠀⠀⠀haunched
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
waiting on nimble fingers
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀

Santino

It would be rude to
Ask his mother (running to market for syringes)
Ask if he was crooked coming out,
A broken bambino, was he?

Haunched Santino and his mother
From their makeshift hut of crates
And unwanted soiled baby blankets
Stab themselves between the toes

While the Asians pass through
In their Lexus's and glittering Samsungs
As indifferent as the heroine
That Santino and his mother buy
(Veins like fingers rivers lightning)

She's sensitive about everything,
Watch what you say...
It seems like love, a son and his enabler
Or vice verses all the world
A rotten oyster.

I dare not ask his mother
Which came first
(The chicken or the egg?)
Was he a crack baby, her good boy, Santino
Or was she?

“Watch your mouth!”— She's yelling
At foodies parking their cars,
With her eyes closed, walking about, lost, lots...

He's a good kid, forever her bambino
I now understand selfishness
How deformed came the world to Santino...

the river's ice between my teeth
my small heart exposed
slow & white
my eyes black with rot


curious
i see your call


shoulders haunched & thin
watching yours turn


what am i
who am I


a new scar here
an abscence of some force you knew


my teeth drop
is it clitter clatter
or were it pitter patter

the bridge is lit
this river, dead or dark
as yet, frozen


rain, sleet, wind
my fangs fall away before my snarl
makes use


it is you
faces you

a small goal is granted
a warm wish in this naked winter
i held a heart once, nurtured & loved


granted breath and warmth


i howl and crawl away
into a new grave
the soil turned
stony, grey & salted


did you think of me?
did you remember me?


did you call for me
or were it just my memory?

It would be rude to
Ask his mother (running to market for syringes)
Ask if he was crooked coming out,
A broken bambino, was he?

Haunched Santino and his mother
From their makeshift hut of crates
And unwanted soiled baby blankets
Stab themselves between the toes

While the Asians pass through
In their Lexus's and glittering Samsungs
As indifferent as the heroine
That Santino and his mother buy
(Veins like fingers rivers lightning)

She's sensitive about everything,
Watch what you say...
It seems like love, a son and his enabler
Or vice verses all the world
A rotten oyster.

I dare not ask his mother
Which came first
(The chicken or the egg?)
Was he a crack baby, her good boy, Santino
Or was she?

“Watch your mouth!”— She's yelling
At foodies parking their cars,
With her eyes closed, walking about, lost, lots...

He's a good kid, forever her bambino
I now understand selfishness
How deformed came the world to Santino...