by Poetry

you wonder what fates have brought us here      I can see it in your eyes
& I strangle laughter in my throat      knowing fate is a strange bed
& one in which I have never dared to sleep      I sleep too calmly now to be tortured by fate
chance makes the pillows & the bedclothes      & luck dares to admire your silhouette

had I been well, or even wealthy      would my body have settled here
I wonder; would my lips still dare to part      or come to breathe some sad excuse
holding only the clutter of pigeons      when I longed to weep a sparrow’s cry

had I the talent, the credit score      would we still be here in this wild hotel
with our legs entwined & our flesh burning      from each other’s Tartarus
would you have come to settle      upon the crook of my arm
if your other lovers traced      lovely fingers over your heart

instead of simply grazing      the surface of your breasts in desperation
& could overcome their wild passions      for the logic & mathematics of poetry
or the campaign of ecstasy I execute      as Thanatos delivering your body
to chains of his own design

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Local Politics (Dream 9)

Sinister bloody sexless thing blowing out of Market Street with a red ridden burlap sack and a blood iron hood – a sexless thing, I said, from the depths of darkest spring sidling up the side streets with a swing in his thigh obsessed thighs. Sidling into men, don’t...

Where’s the A, huh?

is your ragged calendar marked? some
black date crucified where I first began
to lie to you?
Or was I honest & numb &
you chose a face to fit your dreams & pre-

After the Parasites Came

I draw my grandfather’s lungs in charcoal spit the fluid in his throat; tremor in art as is the shaking hands when he goes to lift the tea to his lips. Making leaves in old mugs transferred to sipping cups and the brief illumination of the body...

Kingfisher II

to feathers & silent songs I go – still
trapped in the prosaic silence & no wings
can lift a pen so heavy with ink enough
to sculpt you from the page & no voice breaks
through a beak bound so long
to sing your praises