The Sun Chases The Moon

I spend a thousand blinks on old memories.
Each taste like cocaine
broken teeth, pressing
truth against my cheek, a cold shock

like this one – 
crying on the beach, sleeping in empty sea shells.
My mother eats her hands,
choking on emptiness,
on regret –  I understand,
then –

fireflies above my nose.
Bathing with my naked sisters,
collecting our shadows full
of sea water – and with a rush of the moon
a tip of years comes rushing back
and I choke, not on emptiness
but on regret, and I understand
then –

it’s the same sun that passed away,
roasting flames with me on
Sunday; and what does He do?

He moves.

 

Eden Aquatic

She wears a wet blue dress
and if you undress her
she is not vulnerable or
violated.  She is a curved
and proud body;
fertile.

He is molded. He is ceramic mannequins turning sick
against the sea.  Noon splits pavement and silicon swallows
in a frenzied gulp.

She is airless, something to know and fear.

When clouds steal our stars, she calls to the moon, carrying all of her love and loyalty back to shore,

while he steals her pearls
in the dark.

The Devil Out At Night

Set me down,
behind full mountain
tops, make me burn
yellow and purple
hues, while
cold moons take
honesty away.

Turn on false Gods
who paint streets in
neon, let the devil out
to play.
Soak up the sweet aroma
of tonight’s subtle game.

Let it strip you
of your innocent skin…
And let the games begin.

Tonight

I’m going to be in love tonight
under this hidden moon
in this welcome season
just tonight
as this house creaks like
seventy year old bones,
as murders grow in awful hands,
as no one sets foot on
this same carpet.

I’m going to kiss warm lips tonight
of a living man
who breathes cold opinion
and holds me in his eyes,
who clears distance from hollow
rooms,
who says nothing,
who lays unknowingly, tonight, beside me
with no one around to overhear us.

I am going to make love tonight
to a suspect of betrayal,
to my heart’s gravity,
to a memory that has been
soaking in the fall.

Listen. It is perfectly safe.
Look around.
No one is near. It has been years
since I fell asleep with
my skin underneath him, falling,
falling in to some
confession, and tonight
I will not hear a sliver of his voice
and he will not know
that tonight’s moon will
cover up his absence,
for me.

I Was Her Before The Sun Went Down

and who was I at midnight?
Your throat on firewater, swallowing
baggy, flabby tongues.
It is no matter,
tonight is seven hundred stories high

and I am ready to jump. Before I do, though,
I remember you
and sitting on your lap,
the shot,
the bounce,
your heavy gunman.

The moon has a chain on it,
this I never told you,
I put it there myself, several years ago.
It lingers patiently, sleepily awaiting me,
tied up and braced for thunder.

I will come pounding from the top
of your world, the last one I was shown,
up seven hundred staircases
to reach,
to grab,
to attach myself to the moon.

I have a long connection from brain
to chest, in gentle condition,
you were always soft,

not like this scratched metal chain
stabbing in to thin purple veins, on purpose,
a reminder.

A reminder that it is always just after midnight,
no matter what anyone says.

Swamp Music

Note keys float out
swamp leaves, slit open,
hang out by green string.

Black notes,
A, B, C, float dark nightly,
lightly
through a
new moon’s ear piece.

A mad need, I am
bad seeds
planting roots
in last years’ moon beams.

Spread eagle.
Tongue tied,
sublimely.

The serene swamp sings.
Wants me
buzzing,
dripping golden honey
with springs yellow bees.

I asked the love beat
to swim,
stark,
bare feet

jealous oak trees watching
each move
melodically down stream

whipped cream
skin
dipped in a breeze.

A wet dream
for an
old, dry oak tree.