May 24, 2007
Stuck Behind the Mirror
Letters sent to self
of slow roads and lanes stripped of colour;
fog smells of the shrunken world,
an envelope of haze.
The day weighs a ship above my head.
March 28, 2007
Thaw
It was wind, then
running gypsy feet,
half-shadow in a puddle
tripped over laughter.
Morning rose
as winter sloshed away.
January 19, 2007
Really Bad Poetry (Death Doesn’t Mix With Drink)
this day is a rusty metal piece
scraps of paint peeling
lean into a bridge, tongue-tied
oh! to get drunk with death just once,
to steal his cane and push him
down some slippery stairs.
November 30, 2006
Stillborn
when dawn has no name, i become stormbound
waterfallen from your skin
where love lasts a second, sometimes a day.
the nomad dressed in hunger
drums to a hurricane, beaten
in prelude to silence and broken trees.
when dawn has no name, i become liquified
breathing violin sounds into newborn eyes.
i shut down the clocks,
close your voice and the howling desert wind;
time’s birched in a tree, swinging feet -
deprived of oxygen,
out of breath, out of mind i become stormbound;
ride north over glaciers where ice men cut time
and break sun-kissed waves, shoulders bared.
they exhale ozone in scaled lights -
look, there it weaves.
barely human, i scan the fjords.
rush through shallow water,
forget to stop looking for you
forget to stop, to love, to leave
forget to stand, to run, to close my eyes -
a sea gull glides above my head,
wails of lovers and the high of flight.
i am bound.
when dawn has no name, i lose you somewhere,
and the wind rattles me away.
September 19, 2006
When the Sun Fell
the sun sets behind you; look -
a shadow falls and your arms drop.
two hundred yards and jagged peaks sneak
ever closer to your outlined shape.
the death, my dear. its teeth filed.
red dirt and footsteps swallowed
by a greedy road, the endless snake
like you, my dear. blind as you.
you were bared on that path,
a distraction, toes dug in the soil.
i cry when i see knotted hair, torn dresses, you
cocking an ear at birds crooning ahead
one round for tomorrow the past.
all my lovers have blue eyes.
mud-people writhe before lying skies
i cannot think when my body’s this loud
there is dust in my eyes, sepia hair
blown around, blinds for the dusky haze.
one round for the dice; turn me into the wind.
i don’t know how to show you this colour, my dear.
this haphazard orange. this murky glow, teeth bared.
not quite a sundown, not quite a day. less gray.
August 5, 2006
Summer
duck-feathered fall
through sunsets; long eyes of a kite
follow steaming paths
July 3, 2006
Choked
I rained down here from space, I swear.
Fled from men in uniforms
double-dosed and staggering.
“Fine me up,” I said
to the wind, waving whiskey hands.
I did defend my actions
to the tired-faced pursuit; “Hold on, Miss,”
they said. “We’re not done with you!”
I stumbled to an alleyway, choked.
You’re a whisper now,
a madness with these stormcloud eyes.
You drew figures on my back;
escape routes, back doors, plans.
Abandoned boatsheds were our homes,
abandoned reason filled our time.
Higher, farther, the wind blows
the shreds of my paint-spilled shirt.
“No, these are not my people,”
I explained to wounded photographs.
“To crowded squares I came,
I rained down here from space, I swear.”
They sentenced me to solitude
and fictional homes. As crowds brushed up
against my self-inflicted pristine skin,
my thighs sighed contempt.
They had watched me rebel, silent now.
Famished for your moth-shaped cheeks,
grin-filled coyote teeth, smells of earth
and busy fingers, dripping paint.
“Good morning, Miss; hold on now
while I fill your name tag
with the substance for the day.”
November 6, 2005
Not a Monolith
I am a wolf who wears these streets
thin and silently graceful in choked lights.
Insects march the road in crooked rows;
the moon draws a canvas of their fears.
I was six-legged prey only yesterday,
barren then, playing chess with the cold.
Fever stalked me: stubby legs, five-foot-four and bald;
I measured it pacing in my wake.
Tied to a rough grass bed between sliding walls,
silk writhing against wrists, yet a destitute.
Leaves sigh ballads to my feet
I dance the asphalt red, dance until it cracks.
I am a released, re-carved story to be told.
My shoes drip blood and salivate escape.