Daisies

You tremendous disappointment,
clutching the bone-dead stems of your daisies.

Your lips quiver, your eyes bulge,
a sad wrung-out tear disgraces you finally.

Your lace is tattered, girl. Your shoes are scuffed.


You, trying to pay for love with daisies.


-


Every precious moment counting jelly beans,
All three of them splayed on the carpet--
               Pinch the red one-- one,
               Roll the blue one in my hand-- two,
               Pluck the cat's hair from the perfect yellow one-- three--
Learning one-two-threes,
Only this has been done with as much care,
Walking through the hayfields, picking daisies there,
Interviewing each one, entrusting wishes to their buttered palms--
               White petals, soften my muteness.
               Clean, plain sun-scent, speak for me.

Naked She is

Eyes. Closed.
Sweat. Drop.

Left. Right.
In. Out.

She thinks about him.

Chasing. Seizing.
Forcing. Ripping.

Harder. Stronger.
Fight. Back.

If I could throw up

If I could throw up so completely
that my body turned inside out

so violently
that the wet membranes inside of me

touched the cold wind out here
If I could vomit myself empty

so that outside and inside
matched

maybe, I hope, or anyway, possibly
metaphorically or in my psyche anyway

perhaps the sensitive thin skin in my stomach
could feel something,

anything-- could be real
or I could be seen

and not hated, but pitied, first
then loved

and, God, if only, then, maybe
I could feel that love.

Sonnet, Papa.

I hunt you with the hot globe,
Papa-- bloodshot, misty malted breath--
Sorrow's child, weak and frightened, left.
Both tears and fire from one stomach’s pit cannot be forged
Around the world I stalk the Effigy,
Papa-- gods, professors, presidents and popes.
Hate burns beyond your single slurried trope;
A cosmic weapon hate has smelt in me.
When Fate is kneeling by your bed of death
Your jaundiced body, newborn-like, perfumes
With nurturing fragrances my cooling breath;
Unsettled Earth enfolds your heart and mine exhumes.
A hunter subsists, too, on victims made;
Our heritage haunts from graves where hunters lay.

The Heart Beats

 

 

a balloon lashed

in oak ribs

--crack--

the fantasy bids

faintly, while the fantasy lasts

out-reaching

looks merely a restrained

sigh

the look of recovery a pained

shrinking

 

 

 

 

 

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Hourglass

Sometimes when I lie awake at night
                I think about the                       graphite under my skin



from when I was just starting out in school
                                                                                    No. 2 pencils
were handy and
razor blades
were harder to come by                          I hadn't started shaving yet


Everyone I meet thinks it's a mole.


Sometimes when I lie awake at night
            I think about the                                             food I ate


and when I ate it and if I ate it  at a different time
                would I not be getting so                                 fat?


No matter how much I weigh everyone tells me I look great.


Sometimes when I lie awake at night
       I think about opening the                                     
        passenger side door on                                          the 15

Some childhood dreams persist. at least
                                                                                         I can find
some solace in this


Everybody admires my daydreaming.

Music Literature Poem

Petite feuille
Sur le vent fier
Sans arbre
Pour l'adorer