Away With The Night

You who are with me,
who ache with me, please,
lay still, hold your breathing –
we are sinking
we sink,

beneath wings of bad mothers,
through sad voices of home
our dead limbs fall off,
our bones sleep on their own.

You who are with me,
who are silent at night,
who separate stars, who burn with out light

hold on
hold on
to the hands of these words
we are sinking
we sink

through this very dry Earth.
God isn’t softening,
we are starved by disease,
by darkness, by deepness
of the valley’s between us.

You who are with me,
who ache life away, lay still,
hold your breathing,
hold on to your life,
we are sinking
we sink

away with the night!

Fruit Family

Some children have spiders in their
brains, pressing buttons at bedtime,
stopping nightmares,
praising mothers.

Other children have tapeworms.
Cynical parasites eating
juvenile appetites and vertebrae.

These children,
my children, come from
fertile plums and pears.
Summer fruit preparing
for decomposition at summer’s end.
As  time goes, so skin shrivels,
plump curdles into plush and seeds
become fossils.

A fossil will not suck nutrients from dirt,
as it should,
as parasites do,
from Summer children.

These children prepare for
ripening. Drunk swans arrive in spring
mild pink bakery sleeps
through exchange
while a Summer child
tosses rotting

These children sit, arthritic,
decomposing. Smiling at
baby ripe fruit family.
fruits with  tapeworm scorn
creating  fossils for family to mourn.

Great Chronic Abyss

These finger links
of mine, no longer grow
oh, how they grind!

I shift
skeleton knots, dis-locating
invisible wounds.

Morning is a stiff time. I am a scroll,
unrolling myself from
sleep ooze

useless cramped squares
on trial for invisible crimes,


with betrayal,

Tender body cage, must be fallacious!
What a disease!
What a nuisance I have grown to be,
with invisible
a foggy fever.

My skin understands my body bag antics!
It attempts detachment from me,
wants no part of
walking, breathing lie!

Slight touch sends the annoyed body film
fit – a raging, burning, frenzy
reaching for a

Worried and choked,
we tizzy,
we taut,
my bright, red, rot skin
and me

deciding that our womb blood
has been chasing us
since our
birthday, trying to swim fast enough to
catch up with our skepticism.

Still vernal, but
not enough. We follow, we follow
heredity’s footsteps
into a great chronic abyss.






Through Fleshly Relations

What has slithered up my insides
and is now resting in pieces?
The unknown’s tiny particles are
dispersed when
micturated. White, cotton balls of
Oh, pitiful, vulnerable, beautiful

Cause of the carnal side to
devour me –
inside out; lunching on the
gifts a woman is admired

It is as if the
curvaceous tissue clutches the
wanton plague; as if it desires
a rest from matronly duties.