Everywhere splatters of preening self,

orange and yellow,

covered in gorgeous tears.

Paste my back together.

Donate your time.

Donate my spine.

I play with Saturday night sound.

I can’t bite my nails.

They are embedded somewhere else.

In my peccancy,

I frequently forget

the great video camera in the opaline sky.

Wry rivulets

rescue me from a righteous thirst.

Parched.

Parchment.

The alien writing in a familiar language

I can’t speak.

My ego strokes Me.

Clotting,

the road of glad tidings

bottlenecked by a beer.

Piss flavored social gold.

Watch the game.

Bats never lose to the fruit.

Night never escapes,

Can’t slip away.

My slip,

my nipples thrilled by silk.

Endless navy sea.

A periscope peaks up,

nothing everywhere,

sinks beneath the rolling surface,

masterfully waiting.

 

Snow hangs in the air,

Glittering, meaningless.

Above,

a plane eating atmosphere,

into the twilight with no place to land.

 

I am rowing hopelessly,

thirsty.

By the crystal river named,

“The Jack O’Lanterns Hold Seances at Night,”

a raccoon is nursing her babies,

savage and cute,

piles of gray and black fuzz.

The river does not nourish,

stretches to the bay,

shatters.

Tradition is the province of men,

my womanhood ruminating in the sticky yard

always conjuring something new.

Each day remembers its ancestors,

is fermented and furrowed by them.

But my hands are a seraphim’s gadgets,

my breasts turrets in a house that isn’t mine alone.

A man repeats and repeats,

A warning siren to the beasts of shore and sea.

We will build as we have built,

but will not fight as we have fought.

You are strawberry scented.

I sip your hair,

strawberry soda fizz.

I love you,

but the sugar is killing me

so slowly I enjoy it.

Succulent,

my blood is drawing every mosquito

in an infinity radius.

Great likeness.

The countenance of the red drinkers

so unapologetic.

Performance

of ghost children,

A ballet carefully crafted.

I am unborn, untethered, everywhere the ether is not.

Invisible, I watch.

A ghost watches me,

green glassy-eyed, playful.

They are also frivolously naked,

but it is a very serious matter.

Dance dance dance!

Without me, my sublime body moves.

 

A singular science describes me,

and in describing me captures me,

and in capturing me decimates me.

These legs sex length,

These eyes arms as desperate as cricket croaks,

These eyes aquariums where the wish fish swims.

To contain me is to kill me.

Like a twisted phoenix I rise.

From my ashes,

a rose.