Dystopia

out there
rain lives
and breathes
and falls asleep
the way I want to

instead
I stay

eat cactus

fry worms on black top

undress for men
I don’t want

touch
every
square
inch

like its you

soul mate

this tempting silence
so tastefully
touches my tongue
with yours
we can create worlds with
words

It’s A White Night

It’s a white night
in a white gown,
lights are dancing in
black windowsills.

In an instant, I’m a crowd;
an infant fevering
for heavy music to sing.
My prison is cumulonimbus.

La la la la la.
The opera is inside of me.
Look inside, there’s
a phantom cradling a breeze.

I will become
a storm under white sheets.
Waiting to be swept up,
my weak field,
my broken wheat.

I see your
Tropic of Cancer
and how tumorous you can be
but I will be
better than the whiteness
that is surviving me.

At that time
I will sow the sound
of wind chimes
over lullabies.

Mozart will come sit with me
about your layers –
we won’t need them,
words don’t mean anything
after you have seen

how beautiful the whiteness
can be.

Warrior Echo

When a shadow slips black,
deep in the background,
steep in the sleek sound of
cricket wings leaking,
singing six feet – under

lock and key.
You don’t need to understand me,
the hardness that backhanded me.
the stillness wrapped tight around.
My swan! Feathers spread for what?
Not flight! Grace treads light
enough, we fight.

No words. Just wings, singing
for the shadow, deep in the back
ground, the Warrior’s Echo.

Caterpillar

Ink is raining again.

Stan, on the radio, rapping tattoos
onto white-trash girls,
sitting, spinning on bar stools.

The highway is moving ninety miles
back, to late August madness,
cars are splashing

into phone booths
left over from big cities
and light houses.

But ships don’t come in
like they used to.
The calm of the sea

isn’t the color of God’s
angry finger anymore.

Caterpillar!!

Across the back of my shoulder!
“To rob.” “To pillage.”
“To suck the ink out of every living thing.”

My name is not what matters.
The alphabet is random.
My fingers have no pattern.

I’m bound to and wrapped around each syllable
like a piece of cabbage.
An appetizer. A long, soft caterpillar
eating my way into you.

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!

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.”

To That Bitch

To that bitch:

Dear Claws,

Razor Sapphic! It is not because
you are
rainbow bracelets,
San Francisco night life;
a glint
bitch. It is your kitty
tongue,

your unshaved
mutter
blame

scratching at my back,
your safe post.
Finger fangs dangling from
deep
within.

It’s not you, It’s me.

It’s me! Tonight, I peeled your vocal
bite-sized
fingernails
out of my breadbasket!

It is stuffed
to excess!
I held
as your turkey, your three year turkey,
my shank bitch,
you sliced me
in to several pieces
to consume
over
time, over
time, over
time,

chomping,
chewing,
sucking the protein
out of me.

Tonight though,
my meat is old,
unkept,

Staphylococcus!

Swallow me, Sapphic Bitch!
I want
to be your cramps, fever, nausea!
From your inside,

ejecting myself from you!

It is not because you are Sapphic.
It is
razor sharp
finger-tips
dipping in to my smooth skin!