A breeze
inside dresses
under feathers,
swills bees and spits pollen.
The DNA on my car is shocking.
DNA is yellow,
except for the manic-depressive variety.
Then it is Navy and neon yellow.
The crowned little girl is going to go Maying
in December.
Tag: writing
From my Ashes
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.
History of War
The wars have been incorporated into this paper-
history,
The man with an impenetrable black jacket
stitching the paper,
approves,
and a new sheet is slaughtered by little boys.
Some grow up a mile.
Some grow up.
In the footnotes,
the great wars of citrus end
as a subsidiary at a small level of heart.
Circulatory virus,
change and kill.
This is so much war and it is controversial.
Only mid-minute meals.
Thanks for reading guys. This poem was produced by first writing one poem, then running it back and forth through Google Translate in the Xhosa language of South Africa, and then editing and revising my results.
Solitude
Gargantuan aloneness challenges loneliness to solitaire
and solitude wins.
Above the pine tree
the outer rim of God’s will.
Blue Buzzing Death
I am
so jagged,
a roof
peak with
shingles half
torn off,
splinters everywhere.
Catastrophic and
paranoid,
The crickets
chirp asynchronously.
Inside the window
The fly sings a song of
blue buzzing death in the sun.
Prayer
A rosary blooms in my headboard,
pink and full and soft.
Lord I know no prayers and my tongue
is mute with want.
Desire, must I die to you?
Decadence, I know you wait to overtake me.
Duty, fill my spirit.
Two paths diverge in a white wilderness.
Lord, show me your hidden way.
Earth and Water
Obese clouds
in shades of sweat pant gray and
office tile white
promise rain to my dry, dry Earth.
The ants have been doing their rain dance for days,
twigs like tiny stilts the building blocks to their effigies.
I have been wrapping rainbows around my wrists,
sculpting the scavenging ground into beautiful lakes to
attract the clouds,
tell them there is room enough on this gregarious field
for earth and water.
I wait every night for the sea to spit my husband out,
undigested and handsome.
I like to straddle the dry lake bed,
the navy sea,
and wait for gifts from ether and water.
My Heart
A shining ribbon of steel
slashes the Flatland in half.
See the numbers rush
through the fields of chaff.
Metamorphosis,
the 2 to 4,
the 4 to 8,
my heart,
buried deep in the chocolate brown soil,
into a seed.
Next harvest,
there will be wheat.
Winter
The winter comes again,
Staying in my corner, you change his plagues.
There are times when people are afraid.
I can not invite him in.
I build a summer house and he is not compatible.
He screams and hail falls upon me,
shrill and sharp.
In My Golden Cage
The doctor takes an x-ray
of a balloon,
finds bone tumors.
Illness permeates the party.
I dance in a bird cage.
The door is open,
but I can’t get out.
Depictions of parrots on the wall,
the sordid light on repeat.
Masses of bodies,
shivering to a twisted music.
I give my teeth to a nun.
Salvation waits in the curvature
of this cornerless room.
My breathing wet,
I wring out my words.
Lost,
broken,
Brave,
malfeasance,
mirror.
In my golden cage I know nothing,
dream of silver silence.
Miniature Moon 