“I Fell from a High Depth”
I fell from a high depth
mapping the gold of wrists,
a parakeet with lonely eyes
through this tight keyhole;
a wind bent for saunas;
a derelict reflection;
frightful fur collars,
ferocious in your bed
night on all fours…
…the llama knows no injury.
The pears fell
we painted our toenails with moonlight
and all the hungry capybaras
licked the leather off a motorcycle jacket
then somebody faded away.
“Wet Apples”
Two black eyes
a heart full of teeth
rivers gush to tell our troubles
rivers rush fish for us
and though we grovel
at the thighs of dawn
and fall down butterfly slides
the hanging lamp in the jungle stills
through green mists the wings of insects
blows your horn through the fog
projects candy films, rings the inn
for us weary warriors to be lifted
by living cat pillows’
incisions stitched with black thread,
ten claws reserved for punishments
amputated with care by silken drawers.
My story, “Lobster Boy,” was published today in the anthology entitled STRANGE BEHAVIORS. It’s best not read by those prone to recurring nightmares. I, for example, plan on never reading it again. Green means go. Yellow means go faster. Red means go faster than a demon’s dream.
“Drowned Scavengers”
Lick a lot of fences we paint
in the underwater shipyard,
scraps of silk and cashmere
where the flammable blindfold
meets the underwater sun
you worked until the clock dropped back
behind your bed and sleepy-headed
treats at the end of spears
to tempt the fish
whose life you gave me
the blindfolds sweaty
werewolf hands
the chokehold backlit by Ferris wheels.
“Moon”
Erasers in our backyard
our silhouettes to sleep
she lays her evil eggs
behind ferns, under bushes
his tooth is loose again
and all cooks vacated the henhouse
this isn’t your place anymore
the breezes linger amidst the trees
wishing to speak before passing on
the knots in oak street
and your heart glows to cinnamon
streetlights fall into purses
private rituals, intimate places
across green sands
a shadow and you on your apple tree
overlooking the hill with the horses
you rode bareback to call boyfriends
scary and merry and all tell-tale signs
the scars driven into diaries
the night they never let go
cloudy leaves
fallen through owl spirits.
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