Friday, December 6, 2013

that day

here in the last days
things are beautiful
we still know pain
but things are beautiful

pray that the end does not come on the Sabbath
because that day
i will be baking
sweet butter sugar smell
permeating heated household air
and cinnamon, and rum

and my lovers
will be making love
knowing each other's body
like i know the curves of the crucifix
the prayer in my mouth
the road to the city

she arches back
pushing closer
and i imagine her
as full
as the blue glass bowl
where red dye fruit
strong liquour
and dough
are coming together
into the bread of life

and my lovers
making love
will be coming together
and my children
frosting cookies
do not know
they have not taken the fruit
they do not know
the soundless sighs
the nails he digs into her skin
rendering red across her back
the spasm shaking of the earth
the labour pains of the world
the tight contractions of her around him

they do not know
all this will be washed away
long before they themselves
know lovers

but pray the end does not come
on the Sabbath.
that day,
i will be baking

Thursday, December 5, 2013


the bodies
of women who love men

and the bodies of those
who think they do not
bleed also
showing forth truth

whatever you think
of their bodies
their manners
their minds

you cannot fault the heart of man
for he was made first
and does not know better

and for your love,
you bleed
every wound of his
pure innocent heart
the bloody gash
of your body 

even corpses

i don't like to fuck in the winter.

you died, in october, once
and i died with you 
persephone going down into the dirt
her hands stained red, her lips
keening for the sour sweet burst
kissing stained stones
on a road paved with the marble smooth
rocks of all her good intentions

the world grows cold
turns away from the sun
shuns all the things of the sun
skin and heat and explosions
there are no fireworks here
not in december

i grow cold
wrap myself in burial shrouds
of sweater on sweater on sweater
turn away from the living
into your cold arms
like your still chest will shield me
from winter winds

it's the natural order
horned god dies in bloody sacrifice
girls are natural born mourners
we put on black veils more easily than smiles
and when the world turns cold
we turn to crying
to bitter prayers and the preparation
of all men's graves

you were only my excuse
but still
i die with you in october

only the Resurrected spring 
will bring either of us back
when all things turn again towards sun
and all things thaw,
even corpses

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

feminist bullshit

it is morning
tuesday and glorious
with wind that scourges off
skin and sin

and i am drinking coffee
strong enough,
and black
and reading about
feminist bullshit
but not really caring
not really paying attention

i turn the Jesus Prayer
in my mouth
like a marble
and suddenly
i am crying
for the want of you

in the sunlit room
laptop open on
feminist bullshit

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

wang wei's 'bird call valley'

A man at ease: flowers fall.
The night is tranquil, spring mountain empty.
Moonrise startles mountain birds
sometimes heard within the valley.

Sunday, June 2, 2013


I give you the wings of an angel
and make you to soar to great heights
unlike icharus
you are free to touch the sun
and I drop the currents of the air
send you to plummet into the cresting waves
and the depths of the sea

it is I who put the air into your lungs
and I will take it out again
you breathe as I will it
as though My hand were around your neck
to crush and release you
as only I desire it

You are My child
and My touch is on you
in the rain
which falls on your brow
as a seal to bind you
to My heart

I will give you
and I will take you away again

I water the garden
but you must work the earth 

Saturday, May 18, 2013

blood hymn

my God
likes him some destruction
sodom and gommorah style

He says
you gotta beat 'em
til they stop moving
and then some

only though blood
and broken bodies
on the far side
of that all too carnal war

only there
is His joy
and your salvation

and His angels
have scars
that are mountains and valleys

and they count them
like blessings

but i said,
and i said
something about flies
and vinegar

and i said
can't you cut them
some slack ?
some fucking slack

and i wasn't really talking about
syria, or cancer, or anything
just about you

some fucking slack,
i said
some things are fragile
breakable, you know
handle with care
with fucking care,

and He said
but isn't it neat
how many directions
the shards fly in
when they shatter?

and i said yeah,
and get stuck in my foot
i said
get stuck in my fucking foot

(He smiled,
at that)

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

regrets or no

if i could inject you
into my skin like a drug
i would

nothing as insincere
and lifeless
as tuberculin
bubbling up
and fading fast

you were more like
the brief joy
of heroin

that left me aching
broken and restless
when it was gone

but still,
i would
put that needle to my arm

would be this:
for you to be the ink
in my tattoos

and inseperable

as close to my heart
as death
and as silent

to carry
regrets or no
into the grave

and on

Saturday, April 20, 2013

amnesia 4 (physics and flow)

like the smoke
that parts from her lips
and has no more cohesion
unity and sense lost
to air flows and physics
and a butterfly
no sooner landing
than taking off
so her thoughts are
even those most intimate
imagings of self
are no sooner thought
than gone

Friday, April 12, 2013


baby Jesus in the bubble
goes boing boing boing
when His Mother's eyes
meet Saint John's
across the emptiness
and her grip on the Son

Thursday, April 4, 2013


she puts her faith in omens
and pays more mind to them
than to the words of her lovers

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

poem after empress yang

rain falling
slakes off the tin roof like snakeskin
leaves petals wet and glistening

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

life takes blood

life takes blood
and blood takes life

it's the only real circle
she says, with a laugh
that's only a little bitter
a touch too sweet

you heard about her
from a woman who drinks
with the grandfather
of your friend's friend
from down the block

so here you are
(down more than one block)
where she holds court with no one
gesticulating smoke
and menacing you
with a can of beer

you brought her offerings
out of necessity if not respect
most of a bottle of jack
a pack of unfiltered camels
a lock of hair
(it's not really yours
but you can both pretend)

you just hope it's enough
it's not like you have more
(you wouldn't be here
if you weren't desperate) 

she takes what you have
laughing like she's taking you
(she probably is
this is probably a scam)

and promises you
that life takes blood
and blood takes life

Monday, April 1, 2013

amnesia 3

the girl with amnesia
only remembers her future
she is all expectation
no regret

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Easter eggs

we see
capital S
shared across
our kitchen table
sacred altar
of my life
our life(s)

he sees
the face of God

and it hurts
to be denied that way
child chosen
over her who'd be
His lover

he trances
ketchup smeared
halfway through
smiley fries
and a veil
soon to be ripped

the egg, he says
seeing God
as he draws it
ketchup smeared
construction paper
eyes wide
to see my
jealous soul
the basket
full of eggs

(eggs from what?
i don't know
about the fauna
in that land)

and God's
cruciform face
set into
the yolk
a crowning stone
of glories come
a sun
never to set

our family
also eating fries
knows better
than to ask

and i fold
my jealousy
like a losing hand
give thanks
for God
in a garden
of Easter eggs 

Thursday, February 28, 2013

yearn 2

as a bird longs for land
over the endless waters
so my heart turns
and turns again
seeking south

(for north
is never true)

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

love letters

to you i only spoke
the naked truth
it lay like an unsheathed sword
between our skin

Friday, February 15, 2013

stolen perfumes

february comes to you this morning
bringing in a smell of sun
of warmth, and melt
and consequent growth
and you know -
she's been behind your back again
whoring around with april
that slut

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

mental health plan

say a prayer
with every lit cigarette

notes from a past life

we go in the dark
motley little parade

she's not even awake
'are we sleeping?'

'you are'

in the dead hours

the waiting room quality of light
salt and sticky

nothing smells
like night
and jasmine 

perfect lovers

they are each other's perfect lovers
her, with the grace to fall down stairs
when pushed
and him, to pick her up again

him, always knowing when to go too far
and her, already being there

Friday, January 11, 2013