vicious trap » deform | reform | perform

pitiless and strange

pt.1 the harrowing of hell

I’ve seen the ocean split wide and sway drunken
retch vile bluegreen creatures from the deep
their frenzied eyes consume this foul earth
and the rains come heavy that day

I’ve watched the mountains rise up
from bare salt sands
heave and scream for mercy
summon life from dusty seeds
and birth the torrid sun
day after day

I’ve seen my by blood sister drip red
prostrate and still on the ground
in ecstasy or death
and the stench of her own sudation

the stench also
of an old man
and the puddle forming between them

supple and supine
she turns
under the rise and fall
of the old man’s arm

shadows chase across her breast
and I’m seized with a sudden ache
wet heat soaks my inner thighs
hands slick
and back pressed tight to stock and bough
legs clenched and toes dangling

I shift back
close my eyes
and rub gently against the branch
throbbing out a metre in verse

the demon will come at the sound of the drum
the demon will come, the demon will come

when I open my eyes they have gone
and the tree shudders
under the weight of my tears

pt.2 grapnel and groundwork

I can’t sleep in this drowning heat
lay still for hours
then lurch in sudden panic
cough condensate from my lungs
and come to rest in my own foul chunder

upstairs the virgin mother
all lard and apron sweat
black ink puddles and rabid eyes
works wisdom into riddles
and dazzling charades of yarn

I visit her on nights like these
when the mind is numbed by answers
and I’ve forgotten
the questions they contest

she opens the door
tall and angry
covered in black feathers
wire, candle wax and whiplash
her hair thrown back
she laughs when she sees me
pulls me over a stool
shreds my clothes
and explores my depths with her crooked claw

I cannot scream but dream of you
I cannot breath but see the light again
chasing shadows from your curves
her breasts are yours
and mine are yours as well
and these staccato moans
our gift to you
my sister

we lay together afterwards
barren mother, jealous maid
I behind her and both arms around
we fold together like cloth
warm and wet
and whisper soft
these visions that we have

the old man dead
and you in my arms
and sappho as our guide

I your giovanni
and you my annabella

come closer child
my sister sweet:
no more sister now
but love - a name more gracious

for thus hung Jove ‘round Leda’s neck
and sucked divine ambrosia from her lips

in other dreams
I’m falling still
brought down on both knees to grovel
beg heaven cleanse my leprosy of lust
release this wretched heart
this worm, this nothing
and wake screaming
washed in my own blood tears

I’ve lost you now

she wipes my eyes with her tongue
licks me pure
and tickles me till I scream

later, I trace a scar across her back
the wanton woman, the wild
her feather hair surrounds me
as I cling fast
her smell, her waxen wings
my final moor and grappling hold
black lace and raven bones
her weft and warp tangle delicate
to soothe my boiling blood

I hold on tighter
lest I fall for good

pt.3 deft shuttle-tooth lies

I will not wear my scarlet coat
for blood and wine are red
and each man kills the thing she loves
and each loves that she kills

naked still I wake full-sudden
bound or pinned down
her eyes hot and white-knuckled
against my skin

some kill their love when they are young
and some when they are old
some strangle with the hands of lust
and some with hands of gold
the kindest use a knife, because
the dead so soon grow cold

I’ve lost feeling in both my arms
all feeling but pain
which shoots from her nails
direct into my skull

some love too little, some too long
some sell, and others buy
some do the deed with many tears
and some without a sigh

my heart stops
caught fast
and the world spins slowly dancing
red blood drifts soft
like smoke into the air
and we are falling
and gravity is only a shadow
forgotten

for she who lives more lives than one
more deaths than one must die

pt.4 one vigil too late

he comes to her at night
cloaked and smelling of must
but the gate is closed
and I’ve hidden myself
behind the shed
in the shadows of broken wood
and discarded iron apparatus
some tools of war and others
implements of more benign purpose
a dog’s collar
garden hoe and scythe

I grab the latter
only for the sense of safety that it brings
like holding your hand
as we lean out beyond the cliffs
to see the lapping waves below

the spray of diamond tears
up the rock ledge
make us giggle and fall back

he’ll call out as he does
three times
a low whistling howl
from deep in his throat

I am not fooled
I hear no loon
and my sister is not for sale

her door is barred tight
and I can hear her struggling now
to pry free
and answer his lusty cry

but know this:
that nothing in life is left to fate
not one thread hits the loom unplanned
I do only what I must
to protect what is mine
what is ours and what must be

and she is locked away now
for safe keeping and he

he is a dead man.

having survived the equinox

pt.1 whisky from strangers

we recline together silent
skin soft from sweat and kneading hands
your every wrinkle and crease a chasm
formed by the flowing streams of perspiration
now puddling in the grass around us

our daily toil
these mortar and pestle loins
grinding wheat to bone
for bread that will never rise

I tickle your feet
forcing spasms of near-laughter
roll you face down
and scale you from behind
my breasts against your back
and fingers up your ass

my old man
my socrates

we have this then if no other:
time spent and the touch of our hands

as we fall still again
I smile and wipe away the nectars
the tears and sweat and semen
spilling to the ground

the waves below us
crack and peal against the rock cliff
and the whole world turns to melting butter
slowly washed away

pt.2 the nymphs of spring

the smell of lilac
pungent
hovers through the fog and filthy air
plugs my nose to bursting
and I become lost
to the dull thud of my fore-brain

the soft repose of winter-white down
has hardened now to bare earth
and the budding flora
reckless for growth
poison my lungs with their coital dust

spring erupts a cruel geyser of activity
events of consequence
that portend later lament
and countless months of gestation
regret and revenge

you burst forth
incarnate tribulation
deformed from the earth
(some say a serpent, others a bird)
hunched-back and uncertain loins
abandoned as still-birth
and compost for the soil

the grass is soft around you
and a small vine wraps your torso
for warmth or restraint
I can’t be sure
(safe-keeping can have many meanings)

I lay with you till sunrise
and find the dew refreshing
as it settles on the edge of an eyelash
and slips down my cheek

dust to dust and so forth
ashes into clouds

Then ferry you home gentle in my arms
meager and mangled, my orphan child
wrap you in black cloth
to hide your misfortune
and construct a casket of oak
to be your bed for the night
and the home you call your own

later I will nail the lid
for your protection
and commit you to the barren sisters as a gift

pt.3 arrival of the sun

these oak walls hold no interest
what they have to say was said
their grain runs east-west
with knots at quarter three
and just below my elbow

the wood has begun to warp
just enough to see my hands
as a splinter of light
burns through

my eyes adjust
and I spend the morning listing words and phrases
that rhyme or evoke isolation
like the rain against the window pane
or the gentle sting of summer grass

the sun is lonely too
I imagine
and birds of a feather
and lions in winter
and sheep for the sheering
and so on

strange events are taking form
just below my waist
the coiled flesh which gives me name
chameleon-like transforms itself
now soft, now solid, now trembling for my touch
while further down an ache sets in
announcing the day
and week
and impending deluge of blood

always so much blood

and in my spare time
I conjure up giants
half-human god-swans that ravish and plunge
and bring darkness to the earth

but life is a tragic imitation of the arts
only language embellished
without rhythm or harmony

and this is all I know for sure
only rotting flesh
this carcass
this sack of blood and shit
this corpse we call ourselves

and afterwards no one will remember
as we flitter invisible
among the indistinct dead

pt.4 let slip the dogs of war

eventually a box must rot away
or be smashed open by the envy-mad sister
of your accidental captor

every Dolores Haze
must have a Humbert Humbert
to carry her away

on impact with the ocean waves
these oak walls splinter and shake
and I am borne under by the tide
pushed back towards shore
to be released against this rock

again the darkness
again the sulfur smell
again the arriving panic
the sweet incessant scent of home

every tour of hell must begin somewhere
one cave is as good as another

pt.5 a lyre and a crown of roses

I discover the old man by the cliffs edge
naked and wet with cum
his play-child at his feet
and the lantern in it’s tower
casting a slow light across them both
now here, now gone, now here again

his form shifts
as I watch their copulation
now wizened boar
now billy-goat ram
now gelding, stot and steer
I know his smell
the raven stench of his fornication

I know my birth
ripped untimely from the soil
and I know my source
my hooded crow progenitor

and I hear the ancient muse
the nymphs of spring
rise up behind me from the foam and froth
the broken waves not yet to shore
offspring of the night and daughters of castration
winged creatures, whip in hand
blood drips from their eyes
and snakes
ghastly and gorgon-like
cling to their scalp

These aweful sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about:
Thrice to thine and thrice to mine
And thrice again, to make up nine.

the angry ones
wings of a bat or bird
and the body of a dog
all curves
all sex and juices
all cursing vengeance
all anger of the dead

and in their wake: justice
myself, the serpentine

thick blood drains
from the mangled flesh
I call my groin

come closer, father
come close to me
embrace your serpent child
thrice damned
this daughter of Dante’s brood
console your broken son

for we are one, I whisper
as I slip my dull blade into place
between his open thighs

once god, once man,
once onan’s swan and rascal rake
once confessor, now confessed
he faints from hemorrhage as I rise
this fallen giant, barren by my blade
infertile infant sister by his side
and I, his serpent child
watching over as he dies

when the blood stops
I toss his genital remains
into the sea
for safe keeping

from dust to ashes
and fire to feed the furies

finding your way in the tunnels at night

pt.1 these lunar tides

on the seventh day of each month
right before the blood-exit
a crack forms wide
beneath my limestone bed
and strange smells
sulfur and olive oil
searing and sun-filled
crowd the room

twin serpents carved in stone
rise up behind me
and a hundred silent figures
struggle through the opening on the far wall
scarce large enough for a child

they speak at once
all discord and flaming eyes
probing my naked form for answers
but I’ve lost their words
under the pumping of my blood
and I can’t find my breath
in this fevered light

I do my best to present myself
squinting and winded as I am
but the pain from those eyes
pounds at my chest
till I’m thrown back
suddenly stumbling
doubled under and grasping for support
seize tight the speleothem
with a shock through my core
and arch back screeching
before I faint there
between the rocks
with arms and legs splayed out
and sweat forming behind my eyes

it’s dizzying to say the least
(and I do)

the walls of the cave hum
with anticipation and darkness

here again the darkness
as if it’s not always creeping from below
and teetering (white-knuckled)
with power

I have no wisdom for you
only these words
strung together as they arrive:

—death will come to those who wait, I say and
—a sacrifice of one, to save them all
and step on a crack
(and so forth)

I always use small words when speaking to giants
so I don’t lose track
and start dancing mid-sentance

and when I die
you can throw me down the river with my music
so the virgins of lesbos may find me
and bury my head for later use

if I’m lucky

pt.2 reclaimed

silence
the moment after the crash
the moment the sperm spill to the ground

when it’s dripping down my leg it’s only natural
100% mixed juices
from concentrated hip thrust and pull
(my chalice runneth over)

actions of uncertain magnitude
effect the purging of emotions
and other dead weight

jetsam to be collected later
and spillage
fecund
the spectrum of evolution
from her loins

she
she is an innocent
but he has robes and four faces
and invented music by stretching the guts of bulls
across the shell of a dead tortoise

he has children with the mountains and the canyons
but with her
with her only spilled oil wells and PR disasters
top kill inertial trajectory

what a mess

the angels gather
dark and circling as he comes
bird-black a swan
with eyes that tickle and grunt
feathers frayed
talons worn
and his seed fallen to the ground

love
with its venom
irresistible and bitter
that loosener of limbs
reptile-like strikes me down
and pain penetrates me
drop by drop

I confess
I love that
which caresses me

but these levy walls
hold back the tide
and I survive un-stung
the frenzied woman
from whose loin-lips the gods speak in trembling tongues
as you slip to the ground
turning concrete to mud
(and it’s here that we dance)

her thighs are open
because the earth cannot close herself
no matter how she tries
and the crows are eating what’s left of you
and our feet move rhythmically
crushing a soft circle
in the flowering grass around you
pounding cancerous zygote growth
through her upper mantle and crust
while plate tectonics grind plains into mountains
and you split her womb-core from within
(spontaneous cesarean ejaculation)
your features resemble only
the bifurcations of the mandragore
serpentine guardian son of the soil
the great python reborn
from it’s own rotting grave

mother and child

pt.3 rhythm and harmony

rich as you are
death will finish you

pt.4 outline of a girl

I lure them near
all wingéd things
all fairy birds and angel tufts
and spill blackness over them
for the choices they once had
and loosed upon the earth

I hate the way things fall from the sky
as though there are rules to be followed
as though one action leads to another
and the prophetic mutterings
of a fainting virgin
can be re-interpreted
like rorschach schematics
when all I see is snakes

(his porcelain frame
skeleton like bird’s hair)

(the one I giggled at
the one that swallowed me whole)

I’ll spend the rest of my life
in this attic if I must
painting black ink and viscous oil
onto every last wingéd body
only to hold him in my thoughts

and if I meet him suddenly
I can’t speak
my tongue is broken,
a thin flame runs under my skin
and I turn paler than dry grass

at such times
death isn’t far from me

my shaking hands
drip greasepaint puddles on the floor
around your coffer

we are both of us
locked away for safe keeping

pt.5 unholy love

examples of objects not in free fall:

• this feather I hold
• my razor, stained and rusting
• his shoes over my heart
• salt tears and whimpers extracted by his tongue
• this lock and box I stand on
• the monstrous child within
• a tortoise made of guts

half bird, half snake
you creature from the earth
and daughter to the sky

I’ve made your bed
now sleep

and
for your sake
may you never wake again

pt.6 an action that is serious and complete

at noontime
when the earth is bright with flaming heat
this cricket sets up a high-pitched singing
from her wings

never mind what I’ve lost
I have you now

never mind the past
vacations and travel plans
we’re here together
with my knife at your throat

the essential condition
for a kiss
is that lips meet
there is no special technique required

you catch me as I fall
and we are one

my blade cuts deep
we explore the body
and discover
fluids that congeal on the ground

and in the absence of other forces
we experience weightlessness

I’ve watched the moon
and the pleiades go down

the night is half gone
and I am alone

the dual natures of the nymph

pt.1 paper cuts deep

I can’t think

I lay out three knives
one copper, one aluminum, one steel
and serrate the tendons
white worms of sinew sheer and give way

let’s not be dainty

these are not euphemisms
parables and short lessons
to inspire and guide your life

we’re talking about a girl
no more than 12
they carve out her genitals
- the clitoris and labia
with no anesthetic

the remaining flesh they sew together
with six stitches from wild thorn
and a short thread
tied off at both ends

her legs are lashed and bound
till muscle rots and flesh fuses to bone
and they cut a small opening
a corridor for urine and menstrual blood

the unclean forever unclean

her body is not her own
and the wound is reopened
only for the pleasure of men

perhaps we all die alone

pt.2 the destruction of the personality

I listen

all ears
all eyes and nerve endings
straining for your breath

it is the silence
the lift and thrust of distant mountains
black cows going to water across yellow grass
a campfire of refried beans and blackened fish
a can of roasted coffee grounds

I sleep with a black dog
and a man who craves
as much sex as he can get

he is young
slim and slightly-built

desired

the dog is cool and silent
its breath controlled
as if chosen for this moment
this intake, this exhalation

at night beside you
I make kissing fish-lips on my pillow
and that provides a certain measure of release

later the dancing begins
around us
and a softly moaned
pentameter
lets me sleep

pt.3 to suffer, when it seems near

You’ve come to me before
come and gone
come and gone

unaware of the consequence
the longing
the cut slow and deeper with each passing
a confirmation that pain is real and can be felt
a confirmation that there is still blood to be let

every action carries reaction
equal, opposite
electric and violent
the sandpaper rub of your crossing
generates a static charge

we become stale bread
immune to the lure of heroic madness
immune to soft blanket folds
and warlike erotic feats

The hidden bite
The swollen bite
The point, the line of points
The coral and the jewel

The line of jewels
The broken cloud
The biting of the boar

all the places that can be kissed
can also be bitten:
your shoulder, breast
you upper lip, interior mouth
and eyes

as you stand to leave
and dress yourself without a word
I hang this charm around your neck
like a weight
for good luck

like holding my breath as I pass
under the water
from this world to the next

like filling my pockets
with the stones beside the stream
and following her in

like the moment before I think
- the moment I only feel
as something scrapes my knee
and my breath escapes
and the lightning touches gently down

perhaps my drowning is a consequence
of certain previous miscalculations

or perhaps I’ve been dying all along

pt.4 the less and more arcane

we calibrate these instruments
the sigils circle, a wafer of wood
stamped with images
and strung on black cord

clockwise: the boar
the black dog
the running man and drowning
the black hill cut in cross-section
the barrow mound
white grubs massed and boiling in darkness

I hear your heartbeat slow
and the soft wind bearing
spirits of the dead

the passing clouds are cased in ice
and we chip slowly at their edges

we are all gods
and we will all die at our own hands

early lesbian teachings translated from the greek

pt.1 things to do in attic demes

he had
for as long back as he could think
spent his life alone
in a darkened cell
about two meters long
one meter wide
and half more as high
with no straw to shit/sleep on
and no horse
carved out of wood
for a toy.

kasper hauser got stabbed.
turned to stone in the old city.

that happens:
grow up in a box
you don’t develop many street skills.

you can quote me on that.

pt.2 this convent oath

a picture of Jesus
hangs above my bed
stonehard and wet with dew
I can’t move
no tea
no coffee
no dancing boys
no magazines

no rest for the wicked
serpent child
squirms
between my legs

gravity shifts
from time to time
and magnetic north
can’t sit still
but this son-of-a-god
bitch
is fixed for good

and jesus could use a shave.

pt.3 fluid dynamics

the poet
sappho
jumps from the cliff-edge
and floats gently
towards terminal velocities of granite
below her relative acceleration point

M is the mass of the attracting object
math-hat-R is the unit vector
from the center mass of attracting object to
the center mass accelerated

R is the distance “R”
between two objects
and G is the gravitational constant of the universe

violet-haired and pure
she falls like
rock lyrics
like the love of women
and the religious bond
the sacred free-fall
the skydive into
the belly of the she-earth
through menstrual bloodwater
instant mashed potatoes

but the terminal velocity of the object
changes due to the properties of the fluid
and Marcel Duchamp used semen decades ago

in hetero revisionist astrophysics
when gravitation is an attribute of curved spacetime instead
the fully developed follicle releases the secondary oocyte
only after due consideration
of the ethical impulses
towards collision and

love is an isolated event
in which two or more moving bodies
exert forces on each other
for a relatively short time
which ends
predictably
with livingroom orange shag
cock up the ass

I’m just saying:
if you actually collected the dew
from the top of a mountain
it would taste like shit.

and anyway:
sappho eats carpet.
so phaon can fuck himself.

pt.4 men and gods

Ulster throws his severed hand
and they knight the bastard
employee of the month
and King for a year

great for fisting
but you can’t yank the yak
with a stump

pt.5 the serpent child

this grotesque diction of the groin
gyrates like pelvic half-truth
drunk and stumbling
farther down colfax
fuck you
where’s the motherfucking scoop?

because that is who we are:
we enunciate the lower psyche
we embody hidden psychosis
(the size if your dick)
we are universal
we are unusual
we transvest pink panties
we are vertebrate creature
and good in bed
we will kill instead of cure

our existence is arousal
- the notion of the belly
of the earth
and of her
mother dripping and blood and

coat hangers and

genitals and

so on

so much then for these distinctions
so much for:
anonymous masculinity
see also:
men who have sex with men

‘cause boys
will be boys
will be boys
will be boys
until they’re not

‘cause they’ve got
- ho’s in different areas
- different area codes
- keeping it on the down low

‘cause the amount of HIV
in Genital Fluids
is linked to Trans.
Fucking.
Mission to Mars.

pt.6 collecting samples in small vials

I wouldn’t say he’s gay
but he sure knows how to ram it in me.

the metamorphosis of lazy khelone and other mortals

pt.1 if I should fall

I saw the great white
rising tail and jaw on either side
- and the captains leg in two -
grabbed hold the fore-mast
and lashed myself there
before losing time and waking mid-bob
half turned under and spitting for air
myself the sole survivor
and bent on revenge

you can still see the scars
below my brow and crooked nose
where the gulls had their fill
at my expense

I can’t see straight out my left eye
and the other in black and red

my hand is bent
but still holds cards
and drinks enough for two

on sundays I wear priestly robes
and sit in a small box
where the latticework tell stories
of lust and ancient sin

come closer, child

I think of you and touch myself
stroke my chin
rope beads up my ass
and pray for rain

pt.2 put it on ice

Don’t give me that
jesus shit rights
no room at the
crazy eight
or quartering of gods.

Your attic loon
may command three fates
and the movement of the mountains
but I turn your ass to turtle
dove soup
snap your flute neck
throw you from the cliffs
and tell your sister it was the rain.

amend that.

pt.3 wrath

There is force that attracts a body
toward the center of the earth
with degrees of intensity
measured by acceleration

She touched my lowered face
and hummed a childish tune

I smell the wet salt trails
down your cheeks
as dew falls
into dirt and nothing mud

When our time runs out
you’ll die in my arms
sweet child

again.

pt.4 bribes

Let me list for you
my accomplishments
in no particular order
each and every
as deserving as the last
and none the worse
for their transformations:

most to birds
some to bees
others: short-billed fowl

a lazy tortoise
twin half-bear giants
ravens, crows and marsh

several cattle
and two or three well carved statues
on the town hall lawn

little boys pissing
and shit like that.

the festival of the dew carriers

pt.1 a thin man all bone

I had a little puppy
His name was Tiny Tim
I threw him in a bucket
To see if he could swim.

He drank up all the water
He ate a bar of soap
Now he’s foaming in a panic
Like a mother-fucking dope!

I called him in the doctor
I called him in the nurse
I called him in the lady with the alligator purse.

I did it with the doctor
I did it with the nurse
I did it with that lady and her alligator purse!

pt.2 the sun in her eyes

over the mountains
and the shadows of buildings
against the sky
you can still see light
where the sun used to be
as clouds turn red then black
like a bruise
like your eye after the mosh pit
like my thumb after the catch-gear

Then the mountains disappear
and there’s nothing left to live for
and we all die for the night
just like that.

pt.3 play dead

come closer child
he whispered sweet
as I felt his hand caress my back
his breath was warm
his hands were too
and I kissed the gentle part of his neck
said I loved him
and forever
and all the other words that came

he told me about the sea
and the river styx
and the serpent king
and other tales

I told him about over there
and under the rock
and thursday evening
and things

We walked along the cliff-edge
and flew a kite over the ocean
and held hands against the wind

and he played the traveling doctor
and I played the traveling dead

pt.4 when in rome

things that bounce (a list):

small blue rubber elephants
larger rubber bats
oysters if you eat them wrong
snails if you dare
rice thats spoiled
eggs, once boiled
sisters thrown
lawn, once mown
swings and rings and party hats

rocks on water
socks for jumping
stocks last friday
box today

hello little box
hello to you too, me
let’s be friends!

pt.5 crazy eight

sink like a stone
rock like a rollercoaster

pt.6 water at dawn

the light through the curtains
reveals your chest
hairy and wet with dew.

I lick it clean
and you make breakfast
scrambled
with toast
but I’ve fallen back asleep
like I do
and you carry me to bed
tuck me in good night
and sing a little song
then close the door behind
and take the light out with you

This goes on for weeks at a time
or maybe months
or years

time escapes
when I close my eyes
and see the future in
colors brighter than life:
the endless parades
- in my honor, of course
with horse-drawn carts
and ferrets in trees
and you there beside me
with dew on your breast
so tall as you stand
all naked and bone-sharp
but one elbow round
from falling on ice
how many years
before I was born.

Your forever is too short for me.
I’ll never wake up.

pt.7 skipping rope

fuck me once
shame on you
fuck me again and again and again!

athena drops a mountain

pt.1 el gato

As the fever begins to thicken
around my mental orbs
I notice the empty blue
where clouds once floated free
while large boats formed on the horizon

The fog has rolled in
from the deeper recesses of my Amygdala
and Lower Cerebellum where
- once hand-stands now crunches -
I hone my cerebral dexterity

I’m not feeling well
but the gentle lapping of waves
on the stone beach
keeps tempo with the flow of oxygen
as it abandons my heart

I’m offered massaging
and gentle caress
to soothe what’s gone ailing
and soften the rest
by the man of this place
the host by my side
an ex-pat and sheep-heard
and traveling guide

Let me list for you my pains
before we press on:
first and fore the frontal cortex
or thereabouts
followed in rough order
by heel and thigh
my lower half spine
and upper right calf
my thumb bone and thenar
and the balls of my toes

My focus is pulled
with every small throbbing
and no one remains to mind my surroundings
nor objects nor actions
nor the meanings they bear
nor the mountain that’s forming
beneath where I sit
nor the glorious wreck
of knit, twist and purl
with widening gauge and wandering gate
that spills from my needles
in quickening knots

I don’t remember what you were saying
but your hands were finding deep secrets of mine
long crevices formed between muscle and skin
by the long-form erosion of eternal progression

Who are you, again?
and what’s that sharp tingling
and why is my back all twisted and bent
and where are your fingers
are where are my robes
and who’s feet are marching
and when is my grave
and water’s for drinking
and mountains to climb
and toothpicks for killings
and poems that don’t rhyme
and this is a sad song
and so are your eyes
and where are my nerve ends
and why am I fighting
and where are your eyes
and so on
and so on
and so
on and on

pt.2 one eyed jack and the serpent bone

you rip drip right through me
and the ground is wet with your cum

pt.3 there and back again

In retrospect
I’m not sure why I brought the mountain
when packing my things

It was there and I left in a hurry
a bit of a daze
and some might even say
a panic of sorts

I left without announcement
the next day
or three days after

My exit was calm
my visage collected
a game that I play
with trenchcoat and hat

The fog and the ocean
and the smell of your sweat
that lingered in my room
long after you left
made it hard to count
the minutes as they passed

There was so much to do
without moving
or letting the covers shift
to reveal any inch of my body
as I slowly reassembled
the parts that I could
from the scraps I found scattered
around corners of my psyche
and discarded memories

I left with this mountain
and myself
(all knee and ankle bone)
and a few things I would need for the journey
my toothbrush but not much else

pt.4 notes towards a manifesto

With a knife
or with needles
with spiders and salt
with cozy warm mittened full uzi assault
with a pine cone and sulfer
with glitter and mint
with a glancing right hook
and a wink in my eye
with a night in the bathtub
with my favorite book
with candles
with ice cream
with wandering thoughts
with canvas and yarn
and two-ply wool socks

We’ll suffer alone
and one day you’ll die
and I’ll die too
and that’s all I ask

On that day I’ll be happy
and celebrate with friends
as we board your final ferry
with pickaxe in hand
and lay waste
even
to mortality

you shit.

p5. exfoliate

This Is Just To Say
I have left the mountain
two fathoms out and one deep

Forgive me
It was heavy

how to hate your virgin sister

pt.1: with a knife

as you’re falling
turn back

reach
and grab her hair
like so

pt.2: in silence

Out the back door
the field grass drops slowly away
towards the woods
where we spent
our first night
holding hands
and breathing heavy
several feet away

in the school yard
later
you touched my face
and I could smell your perfume
moving closer

you placed my hand to your breast
and we left it there for a minute
just to see what would happen

pt.3: with pith

fearful people
do stupid things

and

it is better to have loved and lost
than to live with a waco
for the rest of your life

pt.4: apropos of nothing

I have dreams of falling
from buildings
from bridges and catwalks
hospitals and military barracks
and turning gently over myself
till I find a perfect balance

the shape of an object
affects the rate of it’s fall

and when I land
you were there first
turned to stone
and I impale myself
like a martyr
on your sword
or javeline
or penchant for older men

I see blood on your gown, sister.
I see blood.

pt.5: vengeance

the lord our gods
is seven and one half
lords
and of many shifts

a thief and cattle driver
blandly cunning
he moves towards the gate

a bringer of dreams
and watcher by night
a wandering god
wonderful deathless and frail

I see veins in his neck like any other
I’ll be a guide for this guide
I bring notice to this messenger
I’ll bury him imortal
tear his cloths and scatter his ash

the innocent of man
I hear a gentle whisper
as my shepherd nears his sheering
come closer child come close

come closer child
come close