Dominated by a Day



My hair is simple.
She loves tangles,
Loves entwining with me.

The canoes on the river
Are justified by the running train
Of water beneath them.

What combination of lips and skin
Can we design?
Her hands flare me with sweet sickness.
Her teeth tattoo me
With impatience.

On the river banks
The woods grow up.

Seek my mind,
Steep it in honey.
Warm my thighs.

In the river,
The dead swim among the rocks.
Her tongue on my breasts
Flicks me on like a light.
Her hand on my belly captures my breath.

Among the reeds,
A rusting locket with one picture.

First Mother

My eyes are plastic
Blind with dew.
Oh Earth!
I am too unnatural for you.
Even my knees are suspect,
My elbows subject to your surveillance.
In a garden ages ago,
A woman who was my oldest mother
Was made of skin,
With hands of fruit.
After her,
The door slammed shut.
Angel with sword of light barring
The encapsulated botanical zoo.
Kudzu slid out the door at her ankles,
Always ready to charge and choke.
In her aggressive moniker
Ritualistic fire,
And through the chemical canal
That was newborn woman,
Plastic people,
Synergistic city sewing.

Particolored Joy

Unfair fields mock my festivities.
Out here my breath turns to flowers.
I am a sprinkle.
I am the whole fluffy cake with buttercream frosting.
The pianist plays among the poppies ,
The flutist in the daffodils.
But the field opens up its maw
at the far end of the horizon,
and everything falls in,
Particolored joy abating in a black abyss.


Behind violence,
Beyond liquidity,
Is my red faced Iniquity
Doing the tango with Shame.
The music is devilish,
And I fear for my feelings.
I owe fealty to my Father in Heaven
(Hallowed be thy name)
But my feet are wicked,
My soul slack.
Strung through the notes,
A bloodstone pin.


Vicious Verbosity


Under a stitched sun
And a macrome moon,
I hunt words,
Trapping them in my bell jar.
See how the little monsters run!
Peckish, I must track them.
My teeth are faint with hunger.
Oh Candelabra! Do come back!
It will be painless, I promise.
Quintessential, I have you cornered.
The heavens shudder at my
Vicious verbosity.

Winter Women


Summer sylphs repel me,
Slip away as though they were never a certainty.
I prefer winter women,
Fat with autumn and
Soft as snowfall
Their bodies as deliberate as shadow,
As lovable and mysterious as cloud.



Her legs are incendiary.
Though I travel 100 miles,
Dragging the point of myself
Through broken glass,
She watches my natural fullness like
A leopard a pattern in the grass.

Hunt my beastful blush,
Lick the harmony of my breasts.

What can she sing with her lips
Pursed in kiss?

Her butt a lush earth,
Her waist the willfulness of tornadoes,
Her soft belly bread
Baked in the Parisian dawn.

It is the ritual of her hands hunting me,
The reminds me that pleasure rhymes
With guilt.

Woman to Woman



Her hair is so cool.
The bridge of her lips I consider straddling.
In the sweet musk of human frailty,
I rollick like a ship to sea
When she gazes at me,
Knife to meat,
Erosion to beach,
Destruction was never so complete.
Spread open like an unread book,
I am searched –
My ecstasy excavated,
Preserved in her skin,
Dissolving on her tongue.