WinterbleederCurled around alpine legs and caughtwithin hollows and inclines of pale skin,she carries her endless winter always.It settles upon frosted shoulders andcaps heavy-lidded eyes, clinging close tothe darkness of each snow-flecked breath;lingering above cracked lips and theremnants of a long forgotten warmth.But darling, don't we deserve each other?(She'd been Spring's child before Winter's whispers.)
O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.Half in love in this half-life half-light;pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreamingof the gods. Wanderer, today I died anddied again, and whispered prayersto clasped hands… until the nestleddroplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;and when moonrise came, I sang again.
Sundropo n some days I watch you rise and ragewith a new yearfirework fervour–untamed and glorious,pulling the years togetherwith a snap of your fingers.but some days you are languid,stretching like the summer dustingof freckles along your forearms, theslumberous strands of hair shutteringyour sky-eyes from the morning light.on these days, I think the earth spinsslower and the birds sing a littlequieter. on these days, I lookat you and I think:sundrop.
MelpomeneHear her sing of sun-kissed,heavy-lidded tragedies that rolloff her tongue as sweetly assugared violets and as naturallyas nightfall; but bruise the lungsof those who breathe them in.She is no poet's muse, butthese summer-drunk revellerswill never know better.
ApsaraFind me sunken into thelotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,waist-deep and pinkin sunset, and we will cry:for three-faced elephants,for rain,for the dancers threading gracebetween their fingertips—until I dress in the heaviness,a sarong of heat.
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
Fever DreamsHush now,and close your eyesagainst this vermillion sunset.You feel so much, too much:leave crescent moons on my skin,calm the anguished crimson heatof your own burning heart.This war shall end, my love;but what will you be,if not red?
SerenissimaSlumbering sunstake a midmorning nap;alleyways bright withgolden ladies,their smiles canal-deep.Nightfall brings guides:stone sighs and dead light,(never so alive).
Alla RabiosaScorpio's tail slips low—a mari usque ad mare:from sea to seaover me, a devil in the sky above;and the Huntresspeels dawn like an orange.(Fling meamongst the stars:the Mad Queen's cosmic mirage.)
PeonyAlone, but forthe red boots marchingthrough mycathedral heart: Iam beating echoesin this city of thelost. Ghost-stepping little girl'sdreams, I visit mamain the night; butflowers and wine won'tpay for her light.
IcarusFledgling of thefour-winds; feather-lightagainst ajaundiced sky(dawn is quietwhen the noose istight).
SeashineSacred skinwhere heavens and oceancollide,an imprint on salted lungsan echoof aching, ofa moonlit yearning upon therolling tide.
DebussyRestless under theclairvoyant moon—dreams quiver likecandlelight againsta long-lost muse.
PaletteThe painted lady stands,watercolouredand waiting for a cab.
MuselingRed wine ramblescurdle the air, but stillyou dream; half-moonbody curled in thelamp light. I am leaving,I am leaving, choking onsome holy word—the floorboards creak,a sonata for mychangeling shadowwhilst you, hair tangled uponthe pillow, are spun gold.
MizpahThe crying windbrings adeluge:lostand blurred atthe edges,youbecomeawhisper.
faithyou stay home sunday morningsfolding the horoscopes page of the newspaperinto cootie catchers--with every word you spell outyour hands press in and out of prayer.on a day you thought uranus out-shined the moonyou met me first,i tried to read your palmsbut they were worn and ink veiledand the lines around your mouthlaughed at my rabbit feet;so eager to jump right in and out of things.you tried to fold meso that the words on my skinwould align out of nonsenseas though i were some galaxyto be charted and given your name,but i admit i picked you up like a pennyand crossed my fingers thatour wishbone bodies wouldn't breakbut i guess the planets weren't on my side.
beaut(if)ulYou exist in thespace where beautiful is aquestion unanswered.
locationlaughing under train bridges,and kicking our emotions along the tracks like stones--well, that is where i want you.at the rocks of my spine behindthe waterfall of my hairwhen i am conversing through the phone--shooting away the flesh ofwatermelons in the yardwhen i am showering alone--that is where i want you.your lap beneath my headwhen you're reading out a poem--across the table, silent,while i lick at latte foam--by my side down by the lakewhen all the geese have flown--in thirty postcards when you've goneto see things on your own--hot and breathless on my lipswhen at the edge of all your moans--with a dustpan in the kitchen whenthe plates have all been thrown--on the front steps of my skinwaiting just outside my bones--well, that is where i want you.
Rorschach's BlotRorschach's BlotSpiders and bears and misshapen trees,when the swollen fruit drops it bursts into wren wings,salamander tails shivering, the color of bruised plums.It tastes so sweet, the tip of a beak.With a straight pin, I peck at my arms,a Pollock of blood, swarms of carnelian bees.Sweet sweet stings. The poison sings.They say hallucinations, the saints said visions."Ollie ollie oxen free," they call running through orchards,the evening air loosening, a grace note of despair.There was once an apple and it was bitten,poor thing, all hell broke loose."Tell me what you see," he asks."White," I say, hospital sheets, sea gull fluff, porcelain doll faces, albino snailsYou must not slash, you must not smash."White means purity," I say.A good, good girl."No look at the dark thing."But I am the dark thing.Ollie Ollie oxen free.
DormantSleep and sway and constancyrain, two steady days, then three--the horses crackle through the leavesand stamp away the mud.Brown grass lies tired, over-grazed,bit down from roots to dirtbut winter lends her sympathy.Her breath, the sharp-edged air;her arms, the gaunt-limbed trees;she paces, slowwhere field mice cross themselvesagainst the shadow of the wingand sacrifice their young.I go wordless, spellboundtrading bravery for sleep,alone and sound; a bedwhere I abandon you,the livid world I sought,I findthat I was never yoursand you were never mine.
the girl who didn't get shoti am all aches and pains and coffee stains--am i the smell before rain, the blood in your veins?my life is composed of memories and scraped-up knees,failed attempts at surgeriesof my mind and of my heart, of whatever stops mewhen i'm trying to start.i am all the shores they never graze, that hazewhen the sun burns rainwater on roads.i may feel warm but know this--i get cold,i get frozen stiff and when i'm bent i won't fold.the marrow of my bones hold blue-grey skies,murkier than the rampant clouds in your eyesbut when i'm rib-caged i still have someplace to fly.i am all the forlorn poets, for i've lungs and a tongue,i'm rung and stung and a song unsung.there are secret meadows in my mind, withlacklustre dews and tarmacadams that shine;it's where the blood of my bruises tastes like wineand the words in my throat tunefully intertwine.i am all the streetlights telling you 'no',telling you to 'slow down', and eventually, 'go' --am i second hand smoke? does sp
Regarding ProtocolThissunriseis not whatI imagined--the breathless tide of a love I can't keep.
someone's octobermaybe tomorrowi will lace my fingers throughmy ribcage, orlay pennies in the hollow ofmy throat, just betweenthe collarbones(i carved my skeletonwith my bare hands, soleave a wishbone at my feet& let it break)maybe tomorrow i willleave myselfon the sidewalk, all skinned knees andscraped palms, and becomesomeone else entirely:i will unfold my eyesand linger behind them,warm as winter
unpinnedi woke up with sheet markson my wrists like wrinkled cuffs--i'm always not quite readyfor the occasion.it was dreadful coincidencethat i dreamed of a dark dark nightand the antlers of a naked treecaught still in christmas lights,and then you appearedthough you were always here,you wove laughter 'round my bonesand it looked like a quilt of someplacei'd wanted to be my home.i woke up not loving you anymore.i woke up with sheet markson my rivered wristsand with a mind ground into sand,the world is shrinkingbut the mountains have yetto fall into my hands.it was dreadful that i dreamtof you while in a distant land,without cufflinks to stitch the mapto find my heart again.
ChurchesChurchesIn the still morning air,churches rise, stone buttresses,the bones of saints. You finger each of my words,the click of rosary beads.Outside our window,wagons clack, sheets flap,squares of white, windows to something purer.We sleep curved around each other,the cool taste of spoons.Only there is no longer anythingfor us to eat. I slip away from your arms.You want....But I can only give you this, a light so clearwe don't have to be who we are.
ExhaustionExhaustionI wake, swollen with noon heat.Half dressed, I stumble,elbows and toes catchingon the clawed feet of chairs,the blunt holes of open cupboards.I sometimes forget my name.In the kitchen, I pepper the riceinstead of salt. Black flecks surfacein the boiling water,sea turtles migrating.If I knew where you went,I would follow. But all you left behindwas an old sweater, an empty notebook,an exhaustion,complete and infiniteas the space around a closed fist.
Euros' InfernoIn a smoke blanketmistaken for overcast, hewraps us –the wind, undoing –and the old gum tree writhesagainst him, butwe sit insidewith our homes on fire.