Wake Up

Here I am, spitting the fury dragons out
at you.
Here I am, grating your skin
down to truth, scratching away your faux colour.
Revelations!

I lift your sweat stained sheets, rummage beneath and
cut you off at your ankles. Then, I feel for your knees, and
when I find them
I nail them to the perfect imprint beneath your
clammy body. I move upward, farther upward to your
stomach. I wish you had a womb so that you
could understand the
torture of what I am about to do.

Life lurks inside you, thousands at a time,
all patiently waiting in line for just one chance!
I brought a blow torch for this.

I watch your skin bubble and slowly drip out of
character, down your sides and leak into your sheets.
You still sleep.
You barely flinch, snorting oxygen like a pig.

I move up from your melting pot, straight toward
your chest. Your ribs have been a great protector!
I have grown my sharp tongue out, praying that
it would not come to this.

I have no use for your heart.
I only want your eyes to open and see
me sitting here next to your truth.

I Think Of You Every Day

It took only his few words in sight,
tied together on specks of dust,
sent to me on the back of July’s
thick breeze.

I stood as openly as my chest would allow,
reading his words from the hot pavement,
soaking in a fresh idea, feeling
his tone
settle deep in my ribs.

It is not an uncomfortable place for him,
for me,
unlike the others. He is a choice.
I gather his aromatic movement
like a lilac wedding bouquet and plant
his image between my special vessels
and skilled capillaries.

At first, years ago, when I kept my eyes
and cheeks naked, it
was not a choice. His parasitic words glued
themselves to my eager young ears, prepared to host.
Now though, his silvery voice is
passion fruit,
a red sweet juice that saturates me,
and it took only his few words sprawled
in the hot July pavement,

“I think of you every day.”

The Drums Began

and then they left their home,
one by one, the salty fluid pouring
into each other, God called
down to Margaret that morning;

“I know spaces between stones,
that, years ago, repressed me.
A harp was broken by an angel,
and now you shall go empty.”

Drums beat wild; a spell of evils
cast up from Hell’s almighty.
Can I exist, just as this?
A nightmare in a body?

I was given a black trail,
a tricycle, and blindly
left my post beneath the drums
to find captivity.

I listened from a noisy Inn
near the Mighty Mississippi,
its waters shook all voice
and took it selfishly.

So, I went, to a purple mountain,
to visit Mighty Oak Trees,
but my tears tried to drown
me there, drip, drip, dripping.

Heaven became worth it when
I had realized it hardly,
every stone and every man
awaited hardening,

I sat in line, in silence
with them, picking at my knees,
when fire grabbed a child’s limb
and she screamed in agony.

I found that I was not an
Angel, the devil had been dwelling
in wine and liquor and
my heart had, all this time, been failing.

Four Flames, One For Each Chamber

Four flames walking around the world
ignited in my womb
burning in my heart

two young bucks
the first
quiet, protective of imaginary
goblin love
the second
rough finger tips
digging
through skin
in search of fire buttons

two little lambs
the first
lady bug
ballerina
kept under timid wings
the second
away
away
my little lamb
away

a chamber for each burning light
each roaming the world
outside of my ribbed protection

distance has pulled
my little lamb
away

my fourth chamber
is dying.

Spread Your Life For Me

Raw behind the rib cage
bulging
ready!

Jaw extended
– attack –
to tear flesh
to expose
protected
delicate
four-chambers

for consummation

thick
red
life
quenches desire
for life to resume

thick
red
life
spreads itself across
empty
longing

a blanket
for a barren
wasteland

for nothing more
than
a
product

of a Hoarder and
an Unprotected
Heart.