Forgive me, beloved,
for I know not what I do
with this terrible
overwhelm of beauty
before me, beside me,
pressed at the doorframes of my
Her soft body maddens the veins,
mutilates the heart,
and swells within me.
And I am afraid this is who I am,
this bend in my wrist toward crooked things;
the way the pain pins her mesh sick wings
to the whispering floorboards.
Is this who I am. These expert invisible hands.
I am troubled of this knocking
against the spine cage.
Disrobe me as the moon clutches at the
breast, at the stomach, for absolution.
I am afraid this
must be my nature,
the threading of my distorted face,
for this howl floods the house with silence
but never does she leave me.
How long since the feeding.
How long since the fragrance on the mouth of lilac
and quiet freedom.
I am curled against my self awareness
somewhere far away, the mad dog of eternity sits waiting
to collect my freckled footsteps,
moaning and sighing up from the ground.
Rose petal tea. I am wearing ivory cream sheets,
gazing out across
the sliding rain
through the burning bedroom window.
Purple ivy over stained glass clouds,
picture frames cutting off
my gray hands.
Smoking cigarettes made of fog,
drawing frankincense from
of all the silent kinds of
And so the day begins
to fall upon the slope of my shoulder blades,
sitting here alone
above a strange
Soft wet lips left behind on glass,
a white flower petal cuts the words
away from my hands.
None of it matters like everything matters;
we fall behind as we fall into
and out of
Sand in the swollen nets of time. Thieves
lifting the broken windows of the
We explore each other,
take into our mouths
the devil’s handiwork.
Love is tragic, love is
When you look at me like life and death
are on the same side
I want to inhabit the palms of
Hold me until my ribs dissolve into stars.
Forgive me these secrets: what we give away
Where the rain floods the inside of the caverns buried in the mind
you approach me, tuck away your knives
as your skin becomes wings,
in the darkness we are free
lose yourself and come for me deep.
You fall, you follow, you run,
you return before I’m ready.
Drink me like bloodthirst
sliding through leaves.
You permit my palms against your neck,
swallow my lust for the taste
of the pulse of all creation.
We are the birth and death
bending forward, falling back
into the midst of each other’s
They say the trees, when threaded close together
for miles and miles
bring to bear a spirit,
of their own
a knowing long buried
rises for a time.
There are no words for the sight of her silence,
there are no limbs in the halls of her dreams.
We are diamond claws at the back
of a dying thing.
Pull your veils down over me
the moon is pale
and cold but she
moves between us;
when we stand this close
I feel it.
Where is Bukowski and didn’t
he predict this:
brown sugar bread crumbs placed
upon thick pink tongues
draped over the broken backs of these
In your bruised hands braiding through my gray stale hours
there are blue painted iron doors in the floor
and crushed bitter wine
dark wet seed.
I open my mouth but shut off the scream.
Twilight, bewitching and twisted, is awash in childhood dreams
hanging from empty subway cars,
alone in the night, hurling themselves into nowhere
We count eleven million stars and each of their oceans,
one by one for centuries,
trace constellations on each others bodies by the light of
pale bedroom eyes, breathing along my hips
in the tides of full orgasm,
trembling by a river of moonlight
flowing through your chest.
Strange the texture of innocent things
the mind will not remember,
the heart will not forget,
and my fingers can’t stop making the shape of you.
Cigarettes. Shadows. Hauntings. Mirrors. Halls.
A girl betrays herself
burned by too many suns
as they orbit split knees.
Statues. Angels. Graveyards. Nudes.
The afternoon heat is the swell of late lilac blooms
as they lay you on a bed of sacrificial ivory lace
touching you tenderly where it aches;
your cravings like sweet peaches
drowning in cream,
I watch you swallow hungrily such an elegant song
before the kill.
Folded and unfolded exposure,
heavy brocade curtains, impenetrable veils upon the wind;
I hide for days in a quiet room for castaway souls.
Across the tops of street lamps the enemy speaks
in a vocabulary of cruel needles:
sharp, clear, seductive destruction;
you say they never told you this
but the truth is when they did
Paint your walls
high on the hills and look for me
the memories we spun like
can’t hold a candle
to a returned lover’s face
you could reach out and touch.
Tall buildings collapsing, windows –
ceiling to floor –
half way around the globe,
I can hear them inside
when I close my eyes.
I’m sleeping again, dreaming of blue canvas sky
the way I’ve heard that satin mourning doves
mate for life.
The way you used to taste me in full;
hard hot rain down the bare soak
of my benevolent
this darkness has torn my vision away
from the sun.
Just like her, just like him, just like they said it would be,
we – you and I and none of them – we in our aching blindness of being
rise like train wrecks to the next occasion.
Don’t you look for me in your disfigured instruments,
don’t you look me in the eye and bloody my hands
over the absurdity of sculpture in your withered gardens
all but overgrown, concrete limbs climbing along the vines;
beautiful horned creatures carved in black sand,
wander your lavish labyrinth of
tender flesh, steel traps,
rust in the back of the throats of those gone mad
I will be gone.
I will be gone.
White wings on heartache, pricks on the tongue.
You will fall thirsty, beloved, and I
will be gone.
Your lips part silently
around words I cannot hear.
Muted, but calling to me
just the same
Your face the promise
I’ve been waiting for,
a message behind the walls,
how the beautiful take long baths
Please tell me what
I came here for.
What the syllables
What is this developing distance
between moving and
The words have stopped
falling from your mouth.
Time is held by the hands,
held in your hands, sliding
through vanishing palms.
And I am waiting.
I will wait with all the world
for the tremble of
a single word
Perhaps the darkness
will learn to give way,
to slender suggestions
In a dust blue
somewhere across the world
the first sound is heard
by the empty air,
so very few
And in the streets below
this broken window
Hush, my angel,
in the quiet bend of the
is my most tender
this is the way I slip
inside the gap between the
thighs of the birth
of my resplendent heaven
through the fires of an ancient hell, this
is the way I
What will you do with
the coming true
Bare feet below me, thrust of chalk white sky
stalking above and I
flesh to the press of candle glow
through the window
the rain is swallowing tears
long dry, returned.
Sorrow curls his fragile spine
inside the hands of freedom,
an ocean of ghost bodies walking
side by side forever.
There are new worlds inverted,
refracted and coming into view –
palm touches palm, cheek to sternum
they bloom, flower, and
My life is a glass face:
a curious gaze without
Beautiful light, beautiful light
brave mouth opening the dark,
can you hear me?
“The great courage is still to gaze as squarely at the light as at death.” ~ Albert Camus