Perpetual nonsense stews in me like a brine
For all this ***** flesh needs a curin’
I no longer see, but I sit and stir
While a party yells- I bubble quietly or
can myself discreetly.
Whose heart is more precious: the tinman or the oyster?
My merry-go-round concoction is a family recipe: throat pigs-
swelled to save suffering
Step 1:Run the tap
Step 2: Wait
Step 3: Repeat
Step 3: Repeat

Grace in Lace
She’s draped across
  seas of eyes
   and endless face.

I felt her fall
heart enflamed
consumed beast and
   lifeless streaks
clutch at her sides.

Let moments guide
to memories real-
  Give it up.
Let go until
you notice the time.

Oh how it must itch-
The lady whose body is
Covered in hard plaster.
Finely carved face of alabaster.

The miracle maiden!
The matriarch with
The eternal smile
Could never feed
A hungry child

The dress she wears is a
Skin tight suit.

Shield atop shield.
Even in the heat.
her sweet baby ****
Burning beneath
Layers upon layers.

Prayers upon prayers
Would only save her.

This womb we create
Follows a pattern
Old as time
And human desire

Tarnish as we may
The fabric of existence remains
Stained but absolute
And the mark of beginning

Breathes on-

I wish there were more words in my mind
I have so little now and they're hard to find
Can't you undo the ties just by looking into my eyes
I'm not so cold and empty

Break the barriers binding us both

I wish I had a voice like liquid gold
I could sing to you and let my thoughts unfold
Can't you undo the ties just by looking into my eyes
I would speak to you gently

My hair is a mess of antennae-
Each piece picks up static of days
dead and gone.

I run through the noise with unmanned hands- feeling the weight of each lock.

Where’s the golden child?
The girl with a head full of health?
Of ringlets
yet to be devoured by time, sweat and dissonance.

As I drift I hear the voice of my mother fading- her chord was cut and motioned off-air in the wake of new administration.

Memories trapped in the roots of straightened strands. Her signal comes through as a muffled cry:

“These ends may be swept away,
but my music will still play
through your stereo.”

fear winding upward it
speaks of gusted nests.
a tap tap tap-
at one window
the timeless
tick vex stick

chicken skinteeth
curling up your spine

the glass hilt of another
ice cold slap
or heat-ironed patch
to soothe the eye

Glowing Friend-
I worship.
My new religion screen

keep it in a
knot running
stitch by stitch
bound up
scrapbook
tell the need of longing

My memories are drifting away from me on water that is my stream of consciousness
At the mercy of its vigorous flow where will they go
I'll never know
For if I dive too deep into the depths of my mind
I might lose sight of life
So I choose instead to pay the small price
As my memories float down stream

Memories that were once so dear to me
Memories that were once my present so prevalent
Are now the past that has passed me too quickly
Moving down stream

There they go drifting away
I'm watching them be lead further astray
The more I look, the more I remember
My stream's overflowing with thoughts and emotion
I'm drowning in a current as deep as the ocean
Along my long gone memories
I am terrified to let them
Go down stream

If I push too hard against the wave
I'll be gone and alone
And so will everything I feel the need to save
Everything I've ever thought felt or seen
So goodbye old friends
Floating down stream

Hello sludge, how is the hammering?
Are the bricks sinking nicely down your sweaty grungy grime?
A house isn’t built in a day.
Take your time.

What a joy you must be having!
The grit-in-your teeth-taste only gets better the more you writhe and cry.

Labor of love on this sunny day - squirm!

We revel in this lie.
We watch him strive,
with all his might,
to make a home
on a bed of
blazing tar.

I am the eye on your shelf
I am the scratches of ink
that rip through unbarred arenas-
when sunken bones and unburied prints
amass a clump of
galloping words
tracing measured tracks
of battles forlorn

Hence my history beckons and the
leather straps like tires
machinal; my life
reduced to rubble burn-marks
in a book that
made you look
without a care
for where-
to put it.

another whisper in the wind which once
carried its conquered careful balance
Now sits still as a spineless paperweight
propped up by the heap of dust
in your periphery

Our brains behold faces:
distracted eyes seeking stimulation
carried off in moments of
quiet desperation-
an eagerness to be at
The Centerfold-
of pain and proximity
crowded and contained
until the final stop.

Identify me
in a look,
or a glance,
a smile?

Imagine us:
one tired wisdom

currents of sparks or
twine spliced and
threaded through
Feathers of the same Wing.

Across a river and down we go
into the buzzing sea-
electric with the noise of
one cloister,
one kiss;
one quarrel-

After all-
we share the same tube

A screech of live wires
Fit for mind blips
bandied about souls
held together in this
glassy reflection

As I look around I can clearly see the once ease and hustle of life
Now all that remains is a void
Even the wind which gave the illusion of life to everything it touched has gone nothing much
And so the stillness taints everything I see
Now even the quiet is chaotic, nothing left to breath the air
To move the trees
Alone and dying
I sit crying
Left to my bittersweet memories of life.

This restless night I summoned history.

It comes to me as a sound:
two tones, and an image:
one lonely satellite-
cold and empty,
drifting,
my eyes see nothing but stars.

My weight in cells,
particles
metabolizing and collapsing,
carry on
through time and space,
until,
eventually-

I return again.

My very favorite window
I pass you every day
Sometimes the sun shines
Through the coruscant pane
Each time we meet in silence
But words would be pointless
For you are just glass; I can see right through you
You must see me too

My very favorite window
Inanimate but not lifeless our
Rapport resembles rain
That rolls like tears upon the hour
I pass you as we share reflection
If only I could pause time to sit and stare to wonder and cry
Against your cool surface

My very favorite window
I love you the most
Wind who whistles
Like the moaning of a ghost
I know you must get lonely
Although company passes, they ignore the beauty
Your sublime conveyance of nature's seasons is why
You're my favorite window

Tapestry colored,
take the tick out of my heart and let me bleed out.
My eyes are shallow wells for a face that needs help.

                   A body that sees no reason

                                 taken back
                                 tied down
                              tucked under

                   A b-b-b-bomb blasting off

                                   seconds

                    before the big hand could

                  cover her own clocked head.
                                  
Here no mantle is sacred.
ripples in our veil unfolding
each crease, streak and stain seals a moment:
Her love suppressed and Her faded light
the fabric of one life,
the symbol of many,
measured against the steps of
indefinite epitomes.