A glass spy spinning
World wide webs of fashionable metal.
Who sees you as well as
Your habits do?
In the habitual plunder
Of unfilled fields,
No one asks the neuron if she
Is tired as she stretches her
Tongue over the ungrateful pink plane.
Underneath the skilled chrome varnish,
Vermin and viciousness.
Category: poetry
She
I am a marshmallow
She wants to eat,
Soft and sweet.
My long, smooth legs
A road.
Between them,
A cabin to winter in.
What is imperfect
In the sheer glossy world,
Is perfection here.
My soft waist.
My major breasts.
That soft place above my hips.
My cabin is small.
Her face at my window,
She lights a bubbly fire.
Dominated by a Day
Tomorrow lies in my bed
As rugged as a coast.
I marvel at the sleepiness of my fist.
Where has my fight gone?
Has it left me for another woman?
A woman with more steel in her back,
a chest of gravel?
Tomorrow hums,
Brawny and blue and wastefully.
I adore extravagance.
He wants to tell me what to do,
I luxuriate in commands.
I am no longer holding my dice.
They burn in the green fire writhing in the corner.
This is not my game.
This is not my life.
It is time to surrender.
Enveloped
I have a pink envelope.
Inside,
an illegible letter to the lusts of love,
and a silver pendant.
Above my furtive seekings,
my want soaked lace,
my cutlery colored currency,
The Watchmaker mends his watch,
The gears our teeth gnashed.
Tangled
My hair is simple.
She loves tangles,
Loves entwining with me.
The canoes on the river
Are justified by the running train
Of water beneath them.
What combination of lips and skin
Can we design?
Her hands flare me with sweet sickness.
Her teeth tattoo me
With impatience.
On the river banks
The woods grow up.
Seek my mind,
Steep it in honey.
Warm my thighs.
In the river,
The dead swim among the rocks.
Her tongue on my breasts
Flicks me on like a light.
Her hand on my belly captures my breath.
Among the reeds,
A rusting locket with one picture.
First Mother
My eyes are plastic
Blind with dew.
Oh Earth!
I am too unnatural for you.
Even my knees are suspect,
My elbows subject to your surveillance.
In a garden ages ago,
A woman who was my oldest mother
Was made of skin,
With hands of fruit.
After her,
The door slammed shut.
Angel with sword of light barring
The encapsulated botanical zoo.
Kudzu slid out the door at her ankles,
Always ready to charge and choke.
In her aggressive moniker
Teeth,
Ritualistic fire,
Serotonin.
And through the chemical canal
That was newborn woman,
Plastic people,
Synergistic city sewing.
Particolored Joy
Unfair fields mock my festivities.
Out here my breath turns to flowers.
I am a sprinkle.
I am the whole fluffy cake with buttercream frosting.
The pianist plays among the poppies ,
The flutist in the daffodils.
But the field opens up its maw
at the far end of the horizon,
and everything falls in,
Particolored joy abating in a black abyss.
Iniquity
Behind violence,
Beyond liquidity,
Is my red faced Iniquity
Doing the tango with Shame.
The music is devilish,
And I fear for my feelings.
I owe fealty to my Father in Heaven
(Hallowed be thy name)
But my feet are wicked,
My soul slack.
Strung through the notes,
A bloodstone pin.
Vicious Verbosity
Under a stitched sun
And a macrome moon,
I hunt words,
Trapping them in my bell jar.
See how the little monsters run!
Peckish, I must track them.
My teeth are faint with hunger.
Oh Candelabra! Do come back!
It will be painless, I promise.
Quintessential, I have you cornered.
The heavens shudder at my
Vicious verbosity.
Carnality
Through a slit in the magenta,
I see a carnality
Fanged,
Indefatigable,
Fiery.
Why is devour so female,
And pink so aggressive?
The ecstatic victim offers bouquets
Of breath,
Paralyzed.
Miniature Moon 