they call me no-name, little ghost and spirited what-if that runs and dances among the has-beens and will-be's. i have deep holes where my eyes should be, i have a pulsing sticky heart where my mouth should be: I cannot talk, but I can bleed. I can not even claim what is mine as… Continue reading poem: you can publish, but you must use a pseudonym
Category: poetry
poem: last November was seeped through with color
sitting, now, on the other side and looking back through the blue-green sheen of November in Love, I am unhinged and wet, the wine running deep rosé over my virgin hands, my soiled head. he would come to me out of the rain, out of the dark, shaking mythos from the curling damp parts,… Continue reading poem: last November was seeped through with color
poem: fire water
hello local burned out millenium i don't like the way you look like me in the mirror, the way your indian eyes glow red in the city, the red urban city coming out of me, when I sit by the highway, the cynical parts of the world cut hard into my thighs and my old-legacy… Continue reading poem: fire water
poem: matrimonium
for very small moments my life is beautiful. there is Paris in a mason-jar, girls kissing boys on the sidewalk, rain coming like piano jazz. the baby is crying for me, lisping Maman Maman; he is like his father. And we were like staccato-ed beats: small carnivals of mirth, small hollows in the neck, your… Continue reading poem: matrimonium
poem: “tout oublier”
imagine us fucking in a skyscraper and you bite into me very carefully, the juice running down your chin; my head tipped back like a madonna from the 1940s: when they only had sex in uniforms, and the sky-lights stayed sacred and dizzy and far away.
poem: what he almost gave me was not his to give
we are not yet dust, we are still holding on, breathing carefully; the solar lights in the club flickeronoff, onoff. I thought you were beautiful once and especially, as you smiled at me more and more, you become like art. Your eyes turned from drained out blue to exotica; you went up in clouds like… Continue reading poem: what he almost gave me was not his to give
poem: but I’m almost twenty
just before the dawn i am always ashamed of the impossible things i dream and i wake up crying for men unsaved and for my ugly impossible ego. Because i, of course, am going to save the world.
poem: virgin in the bookstore
see this: a girl draped over her table with moths and green vines all thick and hot inside her, their lisping mouths poking up through her fingernails, their strong buds opening between her legs; she is tightening and turning softly in the chair, softlysoftlysoftlysoftly so that the library people do not hear the rustling of… Continue reading poem: virgin in the bookstore
poem: sad confession put to good music
i am still loving you carefully and cautiously and finally (finally!) the words are pouring out of me like music. they told me: forget, because he will forget. Do not bother to remember the faires breathing small and quick in the cracks of our lives. do not bother, because they die like moths in the… Continue reading poem: sad confession put to good music
he was like Japanese anime from the 90’s
he was like Japanese anime from the 90's: he made her melancholy in 2019, her knees pressed up against the computer screen, the little people smiling blandly into their porclein coffee-mugs. she was wearing white-blue jeans, her eyelashes were bleached, and the traffic went by slowly and silently: there is a parade of cars and… Continue reading he was like Japanese anime from the 90’s
the last pavilion 