You’re my firm iron man on an island,

gazing, sturdy, at a thin, white sea;

where an egg-laced foam trembles up warmly

to the lips of your silent country.

You’re my wild tribal chief in the forest,

long blonde hair swinging thickly with blood,

as we tear apart civilized people,

screaming prayers to our violent gods.

You’re my rigid, fast, gold, kohl-stained Pharaoh,

rich with fruits, lambs, slaves, power and sweat,

when I die, bring me back with one whisper,

“Darling, I’m not finished with you yet.”


If I stand in the shower
by myself,
am I really there?
My pores might be memories
opening up to steam,
in the great mind of a
translucent being,
drinking its own thoughts,
like poison for kings,
that kills the taster
before it’s seen.
If you can’t watch me sway,
or my sold-out silhouette in the husky
shadows of a porcelain firmament,
can I be?
There is fury in the water
you can’t bury in a height,
and the clock won’t tick for me here,
to the left of all this light.
Save your sleepless self for
someone else,
but give me labyrinthine wealth,
and fight the things you’ve never felt,
go kill the depths you’ve never felt;
while GoodandEvil watches from
Its sky-rimmed, safe, star-dusted shelf.


I’m not sweet,
You can’t take me anywhere.
you don’t fuck me. I fuck you.
And when we kiss,
it’s because I say so.
And when I kiss you,
it’s because you know
you don’t deserve it.
Because you’re not worth it. God, that gets me off.
Try to pay attention.
I want you to pocket my disdain
like a pretty shell.
I want your ears flooded with
the violation of my every word,
I want your body to pulse when you
remember the way I run
my fingers through my hair.
Forge me a story. Breathe me a world.
Slide down my elegant tusks,
and bear down on my bold skin,
so I can fight you back,
and win.


Don’t even try to feel your way out of my mirrored mind;

its labyrinths are carved according to a mad design.

An ache proceeds from my dark heart and will not let you rest;

you squint, but nothing but the nothing peers into your face.


Then brimming from a distant wing comes light, appalling light;

a red-fringed fire assault upon your vast, dilated eyes.

And stunning through your blindness, whispers violate your thoughts;

evolved from grinding vibrations that scrape against your boots.


Sorrow appears to be the only gift the gods bestowed;

gave us a knowing tree to worship, taught us how to read.

Come, use your fear and anguish since they’re all you’ll ever have;

the depths of frozen loss demand you weep, command you grieve.


Erase the urge to use your feet, they’re buried in the floor;

your hands are busy in amidst some spines of crystal fur.

We glimpse each other fatally, I’m yours and you are mine;

forgive the whirring bats that cry, “It’s not real! You’re alone.”


I just heard the wind calling.

And it said,

“Hey! Hold up your bleak, white horses and – ”

barked like a dog.

I stood for four full seconds

staring the ghost in the face

so it knew I meant business.

No one’s ever seen him before,

so he thought I wasn’t really there.

I’ll create meaning down to the last drop,

even if it means dying of fright when

a bird whistles;

because without it,

our kind doesn’t



I climb your age like a canyon,

clasping the folds in the rock walls that

evolved from the tone of your outcrying calls,

weighted with the pains of becoming.

Look! the moment you opened your eyes,

is misting over my head in a sweet, pale silhouette.

Lean forward,

inhale the scent of your very first breath,

and follow its trail to the last;

breaths forming flat, red stones,

fitted into earth.

I stall and stare,

as Bravery walks out of the forest,

strong and tall in her torn garments,

bellowing, “I am the rarest creature

in any country!”

She and I will map the landscape here,

we know

you’re going someplace



Look at me.

Let your bravery stomp through my wild blue eyes,

let it ride on the glisten of my jewelry,

as you wait in the simple silence of a broken mind,

to be freed from the grip of shining cruelty.

Find the gun,

in the dimpled skin of your left shoulder blade,

pry forbidden words from in between your whines,

resting gently in the wreck of your convenient cavalcade;

unveiling life is a trigger every time.

I am here,

to help you send the hordes of voices to their end.

Trade your dear, congested worries for a sign.

I will fit you with a collar and call you my dear, true friend,

in our stampede toward the final starting line.

l’oiseau chante

There were a sea here.

Yes, there were laughing mantises among the waves.

I heard one stark bird sing above the rest,

above the hordes of armored claws from in the west.

It sang a sunrise.

And it sang a lullaby.


Try to sift my waving thoughts and you shall die.


There were a flock here.

Yes, there were mutilated sheep among the clean.

I felt their hearts applauding me over the well,

below the sickled, seeming-death of all the dell.

They clapped loudly.

And they clapped fiercely.


Forget my words, I’ll tell another story.


There were a wood here.

Yes, there were tender vines curving among the trees.

I saw a full boa gleam, bright as a rainbow,

around its scales, all burning bright, like a volcano.

Then, it spoke calmly.

And it spoke wisely.


If you ask for one word more, you’ll suffer wildly.


It does not matter if you swim,

through a great rumbling oceanquake;

deep in the sea, you’re wide awake,

fists full of monsters, feel the ache

to squeeze and slime and gush and break.


It will not matter if you fly,

and weave oxygen to a tree;

if you stop once and think of me,

you’ll freeze midair until you see

the antlers where your wings should be.

two thousand and fifteen

Hurry down the stairway from the third floor with us,

don’t bother getting dressed,

black silk on me and red cotton on you,

dark tights on your lover,

we three.

Greet the chipping paint of the once-white handrail stains,

your fingers stinging bright;

devote yourself to each step’s muted clang,

bare feet making love to


As our laughter flows in deep blood river rhythms,

what looks like full darkness

becomes a hallway with beams of clean light

streaming from an oval


“Walk through the door!”

“Hold on, stop pushing!”

“Where are we?”

“Open your eyes and see!

100 yards from where we were before.”

“What? No, how can this be?”

“Not sure.”


We had been in the front room, removing all of

our clothing piece by piece;

the party outside going along fine,

with primary colors,

and steak.

Some kids ran, laughing, from the apartment next-door,

we heard them through the walls.

They must have caught the corner of our eye –

farther than they should be,

too soon.

We watched them blinking in the sun across a plot

of singing grass and dust;

from the strong hill where our building sat stunned,

we saw them with their mouths


We found us worshipping the boy with glinting hair,

and the girl whose tethered curls

seemed to float right before her through the air.

The rest of them gazing,

just up.

Us three unwound from being intertwined to run,

making our way down to

the place a tiny door was neighboring

the bleak stairs, and it was


like the rest of that forlorn hall. We remembered,

it used to be nailed shut,

but it beckoned us with an open face.

We whispered to ourselves,

“Go in!”


Now we see the sunlit children, silhouetted,

like birch trees on a lawn,

like faultless prey forgotten, left afraid.

Our party sits up high,

far off,

their voices and colors carried by the cold wind;

as if they are all true.

Still, you can see we’ve traveled right on through

to some elusive place,

brand new.


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