Sunset in Port-au-Prince

chips of gnashing teeth

shattered china and single shoes

sunset in Port-au-Prince

Fish Eye

Party Favors

vow sabbatical
going rogue and randy
her costume party

carnival alibis
periodic mardi gras
banked dispensations

alternate ID
consequences discarded
party favors

janitorial
amelioration
the hangover

Bullets and Butterflies

Will you see the heart in crimson and its torn and shattered edge
or recite the rosary piously and pray and blindly pledge
to expunge your soul, just one less species
of the flutter by butterflies that make you go to pieces
of the pretty ones with active tongues always probing for your nectar
finding ways to make you pay an homage to the scepter
stamen or stigma is the prisoner of war
the sentence, and the words that mean more than a butterfly whore
who is fickle in her feeding and deigns a future tryst
velvet gloved and fingers reaching in the shape of frenzied fist
feigning love in a bullet's jacket and the powder is desire
and the wings of jet black swallowtail never fail to inspire
a response, a retort, a secret blush and stroking
and a stoking of a fire that is starved for air and choking
on a premise, on a promise that a law will break tonight
and a feeling, infatuation, on the hook of a brand new height
for monarchs, migration, and drunk on monarchy
and on milkweed, and thistle, and Pennyroyal tea.

Halfway Home

LYRICS
The lazy way they turned your head
Into a rest stop for the dead
And did it all in gold and blue and grey

The efforts to allay your dread,
In spite of all you knew and said,
Were hard to see and harder still to say

A comfort plush all laced in lead
Was sent to quell your sentiment
And keep your trembling sentinel hand at bay

And when a sudden silhouette
Escaped the top-side of your bed
I knew you'd never ever be the same

Is it not me?
Am I not folded by your touch?
The words you spoke
I know too much
It's over now
And not enough

Is it not me?
The damage you hold inside your blush?
The load you towed
You showed it up
It's over now
And I'm insane

Wild spirits winds from out your chest
Collides with world and wilderness
It needs a gentle hand to call it home

Now surfs the sun and scales the moon
And winds the waistband of her womb
All eyes ablaze the day you break your mold

Is it not me?
Am I not culled into your clutch?
The words you spoke
I know too much
We're closer now
And said enough

Is it not me?
Am I not rolled into your crush?
The road you choose
Unloads control
See it take me so

Go on throw this stone
Into this halfway home.

Ouroboros

Ouroboros
again
and again
and again
like budding
like addiction
like nature
like the scorpion and the frog
beginning in
or persisting from
the beginning.
Inextinguishable.

Why does the sun burn with a forever flame,
a nuclear furnace with sole focus?
Because it must, and so it does.
Whether gracing us with a sunbeam
or incinerating our flesh
it is.

To be is the end.
To be Eve.

Confetti Reruns

confetti reruns
trite rites of passage and penance
Happy New Year

forty days and nights
lenten fervor again and again
her flagellation

a knowledge of thirst
satiation prerequisite
hunger before blood

the ball will drop
and with it all inhibitions
we all fall down

Event Horizon

My neighbor was a cemetery
in the trench-coat days of youth
when a candle and a sad song
were the symbols of love and truth.

I pondered love and truth
on the work of moles and voles
in the clutches of Virginia Creeper
in a commune of quiet souls.

A voyeur among quiet souls
a slave in royal quarters
a stone where I seemed to linger
two hearts entwined and mortared.

Two souls entwined and mortared
two hearts that beat as one
two names now all forgotten
two lovers a black hole sun.

The weight of a black hole sun
the lightness of youth and love
an infinite celestial waltz
between Boreas and the dove.

black pearls in the snow
desolate, windswept,empty field
gutshot

Cruel Confections (Philadelphia)

They are pelting me
these snowflakes flying
in the streets of Philadelphia.

Somewhere between now and then
they crash into me
blinding me
bruising my skin
with a promise.

Cruel confections
and crystal gowns
splintering
flogging the profligate wanderer;
blowing in from the south
from the sea
meeting the chill
between you
and me
the rain
slushes
the veins
and foretells
the killing
killing
winter.

Somewhere between here and there
where its raining hard
I will see you
thinly veiled
as a promise.

They are pelting me
these snowflakes flying
in the streets of Philadelphia.

Tiger

Tiger, Tiger burning bright.
How far we will fall
in the heat of the night.

A shiny apple hanging low
to have and to hold
and to the depths we'll go

to taste
to tempt
to tease release
to tarry
in stasis
to cease
to cease
to savor
the succulence
of ripest fruit
to feel
to fathom
the deepest roots
in rhizomia
the utopia
of flesh
and favor
and flowing
frenzied
fissures.

Tiger, Tiger burning bright!
A shooting star
that dims tonight.

A supernova, outshine the light
a sublime explosion
our rare midnight.

Soma

the littlest things
distract
from the biggest things
so often
so every
thing
so
nothing
so much
so merry
so malaise
Soma
so much
so much
so much

Tall Chair

Sitting in my tall chair
listening for the footfalls
in the damp floor
below me, around me,
over me-
my room is green.

Rising from my tall chair
anticipating a felling
and a feast-
feeling, felling, falling-
my room is yellow.

Drawing deeply into the limbs
willing the blades to motion
to the heart-
brightly fallen,
crimson fallen
my room is red.

Descending from my tall chair
antlers on the altar,
and a prayer
and the incense
of the Earth
of her ever-warring children
and my room is brown.

Kneeling beneath my chair
green and yellow
and red and brown
in my heart
on my hands
we are light
and my room is white.

All Hallows Even

Holy Roller

Zantedeschia

torso

Shed

She
shed like snake skin
or cicada shells
or night crawler castings
subtle leavings
in midnight grass
and the dew
and the drunk
of summer
of lovers
she

shed like antlers
like a gecko tail
dropped in a dalliance
with danger
that writhes in a charade
of autonomy
and a dilettante's
dance with destiny.

orb weaver lullaby

The Cure - Lullaby Lyrics @ LyricsTime.com

one more bluebird day
invalid spectator blues
September eleventh