Festive and feral,
I nuzzle a daisy.
The sun is dizzy in the revolving door.
The penguin in the lobby
points at me petulantly,
but I am not accepting discipline today.
In this gun scented,
Wednesday wearing
terrarium,
stones lurch,
lungs pulsate,
lizards lounge on the verdant moss.
What am I waiting for?
What I have always longed for –
a viewer.
The spirits wash
their aeon voices in my sink.
Dizzy neon fish wiggle
through the water.
I am naked.
This is not a good thing.
My clothes are floating in the
vast oxygen above me.
I’ve been breathing bare black
for so long that my blood
is burning obsidian.
Desire –
air,
aria,
atlas,
able.
My spirit waiting impatiently
to birth through my stormy eyes
and gain a voice.
I am tunneling,
hands spastic,
mouth squirting saliva,
making my way through
to the other side of the sun.
Even in the corona,
I feel cool.
Hircine DNA designs
my sadness and my blithe lips.
River tongue,
organic mind,
biological legs.
Soul of granite,
disconnected.
In my arms
disjointed
disappointment.
Human shaped void.
In my cells,
the blueprint for spunk and war.
The shipwreck crawls up the beach.
The volcano is so ice cold.
Trees creep into the ground.
The sailors have long since drunk their rum,
have devolved into the jungle,
absolved of their central differences.
I am frying a Tuesday
and it is ticked off.
In the fireplace,
ice steaming.
Give me my porcelain teeth.
Beneath the sink,
a tongue in pink French.
Do you understand me?
What powers you have in your eyes!
Tuesday is crispy,
Cream colored.
Let’s eat.
Seaweed, moss, flowing in the undercurrent.
Water seeps under
My door.
Careful,
I have bled for this thought.
Triangular thought in taupe.
Taupe does not belong me,
An alien that invaded my ear.
Oh the extraterrestrial voices I hear.
The current pulls me out the door into the creek,
Leaving my husk behind.
The taupe triangular alien adrift
In my rust scented blood cells.
Glasses left alone
on an old barbed wire fence.
The trees have eyes.
Loving hands grope the twilight –
Morphing.
Nails,
meet hammer.
The angels are out with their shotguns.
The air tears.
Sightless,
crows measure the circumference
of a trapped terror.
A diamond rose blooms.
Bring your interesting mug to me.
I’ll kiss it pretty.
In the fields,
wealth,
so tepid and money colored.
The robin has no place to land,
though there are worms everywhere.
Lemony sun
with long hair smothering the Earth.
Night in her silken pelerine
strolls sipping absinthe.
She wanders from me but is not lost.
Under the sun’s tresses
I trespass.
Miniature Moon 