If a Woman Wants to Vanish

If a woman wants to vanish                   she can Abolish the fetish of skin, to skin, to skin Contact                dematerialize a softened puff That sterilizes her lips, fingernails spreading fig &                  …

Alive, Lie, Legend

Your death is louder All hail the helling of bells, barrage of spinster Spiking coffee with morphine, and no one Can hear it  – your death is louder – like lozenge, Louder like bullshit-banter-baculum-brat-buccina, Louder like sun, louder like you have been fawning For breeding, like Tiny Dancer, louder like gorging on Irish spring soap,…

The Orwells

I watch how you are made. sedated to The Orwells slurring syllables In a bluesy baritone, the inflamed postules of your dry mouth are imbedded with the nucleus or my grainy elbows on which you gnaw in reflex                      like a dog in heat, like aswelling spatial star engulfed in oxygen, the way you kiss is…

He’s my Collar

What is this secret persona that you sing about?  The garbage kitchen you squall in, old songs you regurgitate  for microphones and strangers, the name given to you and  the way you miss the inflection of my voice when I say it incorrectly, Not a single person knows you the way that I do,  and…

Mari

Mari does not know what a painting does but dissolves into your head until you are seeing you seeing you tongue palette knife, the lovers – & arms she orchestrated – & reversed, rather be red with rain – & thrown into boiling earth not condemning competency to earshot odd oblong geriatric artificial afro bike…

Some Loves

It is not for me to coddle what is left of this raging, wild hope some loves turn tricks – some loves swallow you like pills and nestle the flush in your cheeks like pillows – some loves disaster love, purposely – some loves pause with anxiety that leads to adultery and the return of…

Franišek Kupka

I cracked back my jaw to feign an old life and it sounded like you old man eucalyptus, myth – František Kupka in a fog somewhere between Venice Beach and Notting Hill just outside of Crazy Horse between dry pines and consequential fire, maybe the skeltons of rainier cherries have tracked you with temper and…

Five Thousand Cancers

Palm Springs, an envious devil scratching my skin with sand scum and cactus soap – still I love desert kin and a 97° shade of palm, the way two lovers sing broken off psalms with the crests of mouths reminiscent in palate of blackberry dessert in a grandmother’s kitchen How deep did you center yourself…

Amygdalai Lama

Time stood still somewhere inside of Sedona. Ripped up jeans and stale chicharrons plunging from your mouth as your voice box echoed ruins aside Chapel of the Holy Cross. You expected God to rip herself from the dirt and kick you in the shins, as all women – kissing you mouth to mouth so hard…

Tart Smack

I keep bubblegum wrappers with notations, your vice villanelle cherry pop and pancreas Polyjuice, an exchange of habits and horror story whores emasculated by the way you tiptoe around the side of a wet pool, avoiding splinters and slips of nipples with your bad knees    bad vibes    bad juju.