The dance of silk over my hips
crossing the bridge in the
strenuous rain,
I strive for the dream damp
roof of my umbrella.
Slipping through a street
silver with desire,
in my slip, pink and traditional
as ballet or tongue,
I enjoy the voyeuristic windows
gawking at me,
vacant, mirroring.
I am slinking like a wisp of smoke
to a place I do not know,
an identity sculpted by a
winsome fire.
white white seeing,
then nothing,
send fridge love.
My adversary removes my house.
His name walks among my artifacts.
He pays me a tip for leaving.
My brother,
The energy of the planet,
Inexorably travels
toward a day of payment.
Skilled workers of androgyny and antimony
Mine mint mimeographs.
What is absent?
Is it the gift?
The powers that are
Cannot remember if fish are needed.
My eyes
Without permit.
Thrill shivers beneath my surface.
Light candy.
Stripping pink silhouette,
Like wallpaper,
Like lover.
My cloak is a cloud,
Dark, and rolling over me as a storm
over a fruitful plain.
Call me by my needs.
Can you tell where I’m going,
All finesse and shard?
The space between my thighs
A confection.
Lockpicks reveal the world
gnarled like dusk.
chloroformed dolls
in their Friday night best,
monthly installments of fear,
Stoned stones,
Testify the presence of a blueing breath.
Screaming in your room,
The horrors of an indifferent night.
the spider that wove my house
has only loaned it to me.
At my table,
cigarettes burn and puff
from nothing.
Everything is an appearing act
in a universe of inexplicable birth.
When the spider lumbers back from
his hunt,
I will be given a key to my blood,
and I will live in my life
like wet in water.
I am making a copy of five dollars,
five water pipes,
five needles.
The closure of weather
Leaves the continental castle confused.
Today is an apartment,
With five undisciplined disciples
Learning to make music from movement.
I am a mystic,
The visions of my ears divine.
Moving faster than math,
I ride the train to the city.
Lines, gradations, numbers.
So many nice colors,
Cool chaos,
The air slick with liquid nitrogen.
An ornament,
My education dangles
from the tree in city center.
In the reservoir,
My distilled ambition eddying.
Through the equation of church bells,
A garland of neon loss.
Which sun is silent, low?
The near one that blinds
Or the farther that fries?
In a clear city,
rumors
give you an inert art.
I have the red envelope.
Inside,
A letter to short romantic desires.
Above,
My blinking search.
The watchman guards his watch.
The heavens crack.
Our teeth fill in the gaps.
Miniature Moon 