Saturday, September 24, 2016

The grotesqueries abound in Dolores
as the sweetfuck drunk in white sandals
speaks softly to himself, and louder
as people pass and no one hears or
if they hear they hear
an animal lowing

A stub-nosed mutt is dressed
In fineries licking around
The patent leather sinking mud
In placcid weather flaccid
mares grasping for their place in                        
an anchorless world

And who is the walrus now?
If perhaps we all deigned to
bury our faces in small bits
of nonsense now and then
What soft and lonesome artifacts
could we we unearth between our teeth

like dogs with so many bones
lizard brains pockmarked with listicles
an apocalypse of many gods
on with many islands
whose harbors all exact
a pound of heartflesh
for the siren's song of Answers

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

i was buried
by a minyan of
neckless men

with lavender
eyes that rolled
around in the cups

of their houndstooth
fedoras like pills
on the roulette wheel

pivoting round 
the centripetal force
of an absent god

gazing skyward
all the while
forgetting to finish 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

I like the word fuck because of its implications
Fast, sweaty, hard
But also because of the release 
From my mouth and brain
Like a spoken orgasm
Fuck me
it pierces and vibrates
with a concupiscent staccato
it cuts two ways

a sword with no hilt
i overused it once
in callow exuberance

i hope my children
learn to curse fluently
in their mothers tongue

your pixelated breasts
the sweat on my pillow
my fantasy is

only to reach through
the screen to
grasp inside you

and the only word
that will do

as i peel cockles
off the wharf
someday too
the marrow will run dry

from your chalky bones
and pool around your
ankles as grey matter
leaks out your ears
in an encephalitic ooze

i decipher
the voluptuous braille
of your spine's topography
a dream
where i bathe in all
your scented parts

the ocean between us
 i won't




me       clean

Saturday, August 23, 2014

i rearrange my chemistry
like so many chairs

the patio furniture
roosts in my
living room

i've bathed lately
in your lingering scent
on my unwashed sheets

you smell like a woman
who's taken men
inside her and judged them

my desire for you lies
somewhere at the center of
that judgement

the threshing
and winnowing
the yes
and the no
but recently the yes yes yesyesyes

so tomorrow
just fuck me into
that fertile oblivion
i seek where the chairs are all seats
the seats are all thrones

and all the flowers
blooming smell like a
woman who knows

Thursday, October 25, 2012

i'm always returned
to bike rides on Rising Son
a stranger in my home town
leeching strength
from the dilapidated row houses
in my neighborhood
we get close to what
poisons us carressing it
not letting anything
permeate but aroused by
the sweet toxic proximity
of thanatic lust

you said that you're
okay if you stay away
from needles and
my god if in that moment
i didn't want to crawl up
the dropper's neck
and drown with you

but instead we wrapped
our arms around each other
and we drank the
expatriated autumn air

i need to work on this
but i won't
i'm weary to death
of this false transparency
glass walls
are just walls
and more terrible
is the flood that you
can see bubbling with anger
and shrieking behind the fracturing levy

Monday, March 19, 2012


this is not the side
of you you'd like me to
see you said but which side
do i show i am a
curator of addiction and
dissolution and the occasional
smatterings of bumbling
success the next girl
must always be the
best girl and she is
until your best girl
is a slight autumn breeze
and you are left stroking
yourself and gauging the
inbound and outbound
itineraries of certain birds
and making gods
of withered tea leaves
where is the naked love
of my youth if not
burrowed deep in your
cherokee eyes