only

what a string to untie
what a ribbon to cut through when
it's raining, it's pouring
and you've got tantrums like
heartbeats
coming and going
with red threads from indonesia
spinning from earth to
the moon,
encircling its surface until
circulation is cut off
like your hair
wrapped around my finger
and
i'm only slightly conscious on this
broken brick road,
soul-driving into elysium and
farther away from you
muted princes
self-stranded on heart island,
a mockery in e minor
sung openly by a jewel-eyed
pear-eating supernova
with scorching liquid pouring from
blood ventricles
and instantly vaporizing into
steam for your oxygen parade
with floats rolling and batons
whirling but
oh princes
you have cold hearts from
neglecting to mine diamonds
that bounce sunlight back into
endlessly open arms

surrender

walk off a pier into me, the gilded ever, the embracingest yes, an enchanted ever-hold of shining encirclement that splashes out in every color and every musical tone, flaring spiralingly out of the top of your head, out and around until it rains down in an opalescent and all-encompassing halcyon awareness, blanketing and undulating as it moves downward and then up into the soles of your feet, flooding the body with luminosity

inter-ruption - 2/25/08

this is the final discussion, and it's covered in chocolate blood and liquid cherries, sifted out of you like skewered bugs standing for nothing but a sick forget-me-not, ridden and screaming the way couch cushions suck up your forty pound curled-up anti-body, feverish and aching, sipping ginger ale before throwing almost-empty cups into a forty-inch tv screen, licking up static-laced pixelated lie-to-you images of little boy soldiers handcuffed and mining diamonds while shooting guns and standing on wounded, bandaged heads, sending home i-love-you notes on paper made of ground-up casualties, bodies mounted like deer heads over the fireplace where you roast me, maroon wine dripping down backs while the knives are lined up nicely, black handle red handle blue handle stop. skies bending down while we sand-paper bodies into mountains feeling teeth make their way into skin drawing blood through pale sweaters that were made in old china and claim to keep us so warm.

11/26/07

at my knees in a church that is you while light through stained glass splatters red across my cheek, beneath the steeple below the spire under a sky that went ablaze. dissonant gospel echoes up and down in a cat-mouse game with the bell tower, stop and go in this meadow of thick power, hide and seek like your book of bleeding wisdom leading a sinister choir into a blind and furious reenactment of your buried era amongst green boards and school desks used as shields by a macro army poised bow-ready and sneering before a monster atop a solid gold throne that rolled with the waves and landed with a crash onto your dark shore.