champagne—good morning—celebrating the art of putting words on tonguesand speaking blackberries,raw crescents, the dovesin the trees and the hair;their feathers, the formulists,foucault and the prisons,men going free, the eye going mad. we could be anything—we could be silver bubblescoming up fast,exploding in today— today— today.
Tag: poem
poem: tragedy to introduction and rondo capriccioso
fall is saint-saëns, it is slipping offsilk dresses and leather gloves,hands cut on the dashboardand hair mussed,leaving her body like curtainshung over the seat—his tongue spiced,her cigarette sparking, sexcut and served cold;the air is brimmingthe music rimming up—i counted your sallow face in the crowdthe day i left,over the top,for glory and saint george andall… Continue reading poem: tragedy to introduction and rondo capriccioso
poem: pornographic europa
i met you under the meter-blockwith madness in my head—you pulled out— my spinal cord,you thought, you asked, i said. love comes down, i guess,to this: the ramones and black mornings,your hand in the mooring,my chemise and semenin the painting, the submissions—a literary edition of two peopleliving nicely, the prague-parissplit: we'll have sexand call it… Continue reading poem: pornographic europa
poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually
alternatively titled: "buffy, season six" i am New York in the window,i am Paris in the glass.can you find me, i amlaughing—can you find me,i won’t last.cities in the stardustmake shit inside my head,can i sleep with Prague?with the adolescent-dead?the boys are saving nothingthe boys are going madi am just an illnesspathetic, never had.can you… Continue reading poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually
poem: pathology
something inside medoes not wantto get better. i am violently addictedto my own self-destruction.
poem: the view from my living room window
some people light small fires—I, am lit. someday i will be won and not waiting: it is an old refrain, told by older woman; in the still afternoon i watch three sparrows circle my childhood, the greens glowing yellow, and i think— there is something waiting out there, there is something roaring.
poem: stay-at-home woman
do you remember the red telephone, sitting like a silent cat, renovating the hall with its small plastic face? i watched you leave, the first day, and then i called my mother. the baby was twisting like an almond, a sliver in my ocean-split stomach; i put my hands over my mouth so she wouldn’t… Continue reading poem: stay-at-home woman
poem: light yagami
he was a boy with stars in his eyes and the world laid out (carefully) at his feet. he walked too far, too fast. he missed the world and fell into the universe, into the cosmos. he came out— a god. he came out a scared boy with no better legacy than people dropping dead—… Continue reading poem: light yagami
poem: twisted
published also in one hand clapping magazine, in altered form if you put my face into wet cementit would not leavedefining marks. my shoes squeak lolita lolita lolita after i visit my father;walking across town makes towninto thin manga lines,the people slipping into hotpencil shapes and his thumbprintskeeping close watchon my ankles, on the young… Continue reading poem: twisted
poem: medieval rhapsody
maids stand legion— we have nothing but the iron on our checks, the sex rimmed over our lips as if we were bowls, made to pour out and be poured into. sir, if you would touch my check and untie the red skirt, I swear I will be true, I will not send letters to… Continue reading poem: medieval rhapsody
the last pavilion 