White Noise & Kill Bill Sirens

I take two steps towards you. I miss you. I take two steps before falling apart face to face with your apparition, I take two steps          I hesitate,          I take two steps and my eyes dilate their loss in a hallway, your spirit smells like rotten plums…

What Kind of Hands Did The Monster Grow

What kind of hands did the monster grow. A royal flush, peaches and blush blooming epiphanies from the wrinkles in his palms, the desperate twitch of a boy sitting alone and naked in a cold bathtub swallowing soap and scraping food from his nails with loosened baby teeth, begging for his parents attention as they’re…

DAMOCLES.

You were born to be a Damocles. It’s in your name / you share the same snake-like entendre     you lure, into love and linger the sword of your lust, provoking strokes of luck into fire and your rotting teeth grind on spongy hearts like punch-drunk birds of prey At dusk, your hands spring into…

Some Men are Witches

Some men are witches, infected with wilderness stubble and smoke, Love that recoils when touched too deep, as if reborn from the darkness of stardust traversing under the church of provocative nomad feet, they run – some men – have spirits in their palms that lay fallen from their chest, thirteen past lives and fire…

The Leaves You Pick Off The Blackberry

He held his breath to them all. The way a bushel of blackberries suddenly appears on the side of the road after you’ve escaped from the city. You steal them by the handful, assuming they don’t belong to anyone except nature – and she owes you – from the countless times she disembodied your hungry…

Two Cannibals in a Blackout

I am a mirror image of what is inside you. Violence and a bullseye – subliminal sacrifices being antagonized through ticker tape and cartographs, velvet Tourette’s and phobic of reactionaries, our fingers swell in the exact same way when our blood pressures rise and we sweat the same nonsense which makes our pores smell alike…

Four Nicknames and a Uterus

Desi wiped sweat all over the front of his white shirt as I scream about how hot the pavement is – and he hates it – the word pavement. It reminds him of being in his 20’s, when the woman he loved fucked their mutual friend in their home in their bed more than once….

Post and Rail

I had a dream we were strangers,          a dream we were neighbors partitioned by a farm, I held my daughter and watched you through post and rail, planting flowers – your knees buried in the soil          Filled with soul and sun, sorting your grown daughters old clothes…

Henry VIII

How little do I speak – how quiet am I? I communicate in repetition but I deliver discourse in another language, my history does not connect to you and you lose the chemistry of my intention as you sleep, Sleep, every drop of alcohol in this house, Pass by me, as your ears fill with lavender…

Blood Orange

His face is a fistful of oranges. I enter           an apostrophe where the curve of his nose should be – a swarm of flies from the blood pooling in his cupids bow, a hive of bees stealing glances from his pelvis, Why are you so honey? I ask him as if…