“We Were Friends”

30 Mar

“We Were Friends”

Dove the sandy hair

said goodbye

to dust of river

you were deadly as an artist

when we were friends

when I’d lick the crushed strawberry

from your jeans

then I’d let a dinosaur could eat you:

we were friends

veined in blue

we’ll never reach an understanding

and now it’s time to go again

we were friends

to travel dark caves

and place of dew

a place I knew

so these were our lives

passing in a kissing flame

poisoned butterflies

riding the backbone of this dream again

across the coast of you

hold my hand through the starry end

we were friends

a sprinkled dead and every rainbow sets

your honed fine senses to bloodthirst

a bursting star crown

we rode beasts with leather stirrups,

haunted leather pumpkins

our slipper footsteps

we were friends in the dying rain

the name of your friends

when poetry killed you

this line of sentiment

a butcher’s fox tail

burrowed deep into Snow Mountain

can ever the freckles release the he-burette holding too much pity

and only in some yearbook

were we perfect and young

but already dusty.

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“Everything is an Angel”

23 Mar

“Everything is an Angel”

Wake up the two o’clock hoof

dance the mildew, tracking basements

field mice thaw

to love the sound of cracking bug

vertebrae down your throat

to give the quiet never frilly rested

desperado in dessert chains, charmed

found the velvet killers’ gloves

on a monster farm

where girls shine on t.v.,

their gold belts

through the silver birds

their life lines crossed with love veins

if soirées could bless the demons

the razor light

to cotton the red of barns,

strawberry apples:

I met you in a refrigerated laundromat

beside a crystal boyfriend,

as if frozen liquid

machinery cries

hands made of kitchen sinks

could cold

somebody else’s joy by blowing by

unless your dress were to fray

the letters tied to bows

the river’s sleet

bloodied to carnations

all the drunken promises flapping

to rose bodies torn fingers

everything is an angel

when hideous times

when everything is an angel

when vipers to families

the poisoned puppets’ hands

squeezing the dew

smoothed fabric to nothing

the heat of your mark

chants the skeletons foresee

nimble horns, skewed fingernails

sawn-off twilights, ripples in plaster

ghost’s voice spells shrunken heads

blamed saints,

still woven to news stories

strength to cut anew

path through life

beyond every shadow world’s

lost shoeboxes

life glows evil in thatched obelisks.

“Moonlight Spoils Vermont”

19 Mar

“Moonlight Spoils Vermont”

There was something clean about the way you speared me,

something sacred of the blood

filtering through my gills

while my gull filled with hair pie meat

and wriggling newts

diseased dream teeth

scattering me away over crowns,

horizons, bleached princess terror tiaras

deadly vipers, scream kisses

I don’t believe in you

is contagious

as spilling milk, ghost sheets,

treacherous highways, wooded phantoms

dialing with too many gold rings,

lipstick on costume lapels,

cucumbers sliced to their blood gurgling,

glory through the future you

our future too, waving the grasslands

the palm sucking last right meal morsels

the dorsal fin

daffodils call your name

somewhere in the past

was all scattered spiders of a dream

and it wasn’t even a eulogy.

“I Wish You to Celebrate Too”

16 Mar

“I Wish You To Celebrate Too”

Bend every paycheck until it breaks,

the sound it’s time to celebrate

enveloped, a man in a corner

snakes, lips on the wall,

scars in the sky

the cat’s of footsteps in the house

the size: a mountain lion,

my love for you in all time

ride a fly horse through the window frame

the ceiling-stink of another hallway

down the back streets of your namesake

tethered to another brain

of mildewed sea captains

and hopeful yellow galoshes

and hats to turn a bright star mint

soft slippers through dreams

read between the linen

dark poachers explode pouches

explorers committed to the cave

roof footsteps

the splendid cut of meat.

“That’s the Thing About Us”

9 Mar

“That’s the Thing About Us”

The I’m-sorry-s could cut a thin strip

a pirate’s cutlass, caught shaving

on the plank

you anymore:

that’s the thing about us.

That’s the thing about us:

when love gloves in phantoms

rainy fountains under green night suns

thunderstorm birthdays

clues rot beneath drawbridges

a mystery arrives, bitten

flesh removed to the bone

but we’re having a pillow party

chained ear to ear:

that’s the thing about us.

When the wind whistles

through the streets

and excites the flagpoles

of our seaside town

my uncle beneath the meat wagon

your butterflies

to exercise your thighs,

yet we’re still cheerful ghosts

even when motorcycles screech to halts

and halter-tops breech

electric fog perimeters

green dots on a video game grid

holding hands through a thousand years

of inhaled, bone-chipped stardust:

that’s the thing about us.

Thin azaleas walk by

a psycho train providing blue milk

on a vast desert,

sharing our knife wounds

struggling to trust:

that’s the thing about us.

“Tiger Liars”

5 Mar

“Tiger Liars”

Forever this stamp

the folds of your heartthrob

once upon a time

this desert was you

watching the iron ball

throb in a silk waterfall

through miserable seas

I’ve travelled in hollowed-out ogres

boats for wooden oceans

deer eyes, shielding the ferns

and all these sadness raindrops,

a windowsill with a dusty horse

neighing and sputtering

and traveling light:

only a cane and a suitcase,

only a hat and a green dove

for the parrots to fall in love with

calling me ever again

to brush my hair away

until wigs and manikins should stare

and ball bettings slide

to the roof of your ice pop.

“Jackal Stripes”

2 Mar

“Jackal Stripes”

This punishing hand, to know you

to know about your birthdays

your romantic candles

the ships that lead us

to spy islands, clean jackals

lifts from your suitcase the cold gold

clothes, on ships adrift

then circling the chipped waves

blinding portraits, a myth

of purple-clouded

heinous sea monsters,

those spooky celebrations

where you run into your younger self

and bow for all his warmth and calm

he could lend you.

“Space Scissors”

28 Feb

“Space Scissors”

I walk through a land of broken teeth

pulled pullovers, snowy driveways

through broken bones

where every memory is chilled

and crammed in a locket round

the five o’clock shadow hordes

wringing my neck and number,

galloping with bright lights,

rose and red bouquets, princesses dying,

blue flowers pressed to lips,

spiders in hourglasses,

axes greeting spark plugs

greased hands, the witch’s lies

the ogre’s children

if only for human flesh boots

and blades for

ballerinas to dance knives on

while we fence in a moat drowned

in this your life

of your sweet heart of stone

seasoned with scissors, scalpels

and lashes for beehives too quick

behind the refrigerator

your body disappears.

“Scarry Skies”

27 Feb

“Scarry Skies”

I’ll take down the rain

the sky

to undress it

bold as a cherry wood wardrobe

the parlor boys grip their chips

the dents and sparks where you used to

lay your tangled hair, a battle hive

of chain-link barbed-wire bolts

casings and pirouettes in barrels

pure or loud as the silver bell

stricken to cold ears

hearing the roof talk

to the weather’s van

a tonic vain

as stripes could lose their muster

but spots could turn us around tonight

leopards and the wild jaguars caw

pull levers from their spectacle drawers

give me a paradise,

faked or photographed

in guilty hideaways,

not the bone crunch of skull:

a messiah turned away again,

waterfalls to lead you back

through hovering alleys, the juniper coat

emeralds the deep river

eyes agleam with this jungle carnation

to torture and rescue us

because the sunlight

is an impossible illusion.

“Stronger Than Your Answer”

26 Feb

“Stronger Than Your Answer”

Bacteria swarms to a new shore

while ants take a bath in the kitchen

and the warm glow of a bed of nails

and the faint putrescence

of a warm glove

veined by icy hands.

I missed the train

to turned hips away from the cougar fire

a rug moistening at the specter

beneath the mantle, cold candles

the roast of a disowned son

the icicle bouquet queen,

coated in liquid silver minutes

faded phone calls.