a zipper coat id keep you in
so we can’t say goodbye.
you tsk tsk and i aught to tat,
you’re much a dove, i’m much a bat.
you shiver and i wanted that.
with half a mind to scream it all
and half to keep wit dry,
i struggle with a match and fall
a step or two behind.
the wind is pissed that i have missed
the way it used to cry,
but having hands to stop its plans
is much to my delight.
oh admiral! i stand at ease!
your mouth is mutter sighs.
i catch them all, the tongue i seize,
a liplocked passerby.
with clever words as clever birds,
your wrists id like to tie.
xx
screaming truths to an audience whose faces im not used to.
is it then truth? or a regulated ruse?
to keep a tab on what you want to do,
or calculate the things you want someone to do to you.
existence is a handhold turned to first based tryst,
a best friend whom you drunken kiss.
the secret known in shape, a dress sized without the body frame.
the ease in which to fall in line,
a second sight kept out of mind.
a rawness kept hid behind a line that’s thin enough to see behind.
illusory, transposed your soul into a bowl of jokes.
some dirty catalogue of verses spoke by persons
who aware but not quite did know
where catacombs of history
turn rivers into mystery
and take the things you sow
and turn the light and then you slight
and find that you have much further to go.
my sleeper, what a fucking languid dreamer!
she can blindly untie laces
and i find the time to sew myself to seam her.
sunflower girl, powdered princess who can pollenate
the duldrums and the daft,
keep your ass off as you laugh,
and you’ll find you wish you’d been born with vines.
be mine, funky juju valentine,
a robot heart would melt for one with eyes that you designed.
you keep my eyes rolled back,
awash from all the years kept score
and finding that there’s nothing that you lack.
a dastard and delight,
9 years and drooling on for ninety more.
one door opens, one then closed.
sometimes i come out swinging,
find there’s vines i do not know.
a slip to keep old freud awake
and worn below his favorite petticoat;
a tattered robe you didn’t take
when you drained lakes to fund your mobile home.
i keep it as a bondage claim
and tie my wits and wrist to a bedpost,
there’s a key beside the doorframe-
you’re invited to the friendly little choke.
sicken sigh,
want your breathing for my lullaby.
a tendon for some tenderness,
and caged by rib to hide from passerby.
i’ve slept on this;
a bedmate bugged me ‘buzz off’,
had to fly.
i’ll wine you til you sign
a waiver, spooky dotted line,
a closet clause to keep
our wings aligned.
we exist around a tandem on an axis of
a random couple hemispheres, our pacts and
outsung songs grown out to longhaired seventies now
“we are stardust, golden, billion year old carbon”
and the garden we got back to
we decided just to farm it.we grew
out all the weeds and all the animals?
we starved them.
we took all of the leaves and saw to smoke them;
who we harming?
think about this, molding mistress,
we’re supposed to make a list of all the things
we have to miss in order to exist
on a timeline fit for facebooks and
a way to keep our innards in a twist.
I will NOT succumb to fragrancies and
pretend that I am happy in a welfare agency;
I am not a code to break into a worker bee for
queens who simply steal the hive supply.
Fuck all of us, we want to watch our species die.
who knew?
i skipped the growth
but want to feel the bloom-
i ripped the lace
but want to tie the shoe.
it’s blue-
we flipped the break
but kept the outlet nude,
we burned the book
but kept the cover glued.
but you..
i screamed a lie,
you overlook the truth-
i want to die—
you’d search me for the loot.
i dreamt i had a heart that wasnt mine,
and i felt fine.
it kept a beat that sounded so in time,
synapse aligned,
that i would go to bed to tell my brain
that my new heart was kind.
sweet sleep to keep my folly and design,
my sparkled, muscled shrine.
i snuck on in while you were busy teaching them the salsa,
you succubus who always makes my sailing sorrow vanish.
not tongued in to your dialect, they shuffled soft, persistent;
but had you known that silence doesnt sound the same in spanish?
i cant keep up with shanties sung to places ive not been.
born winds away,
the cacti from death valley wait for rain to cease again.
toiling trouble,
seeks things to singe and ways to burst your bubble
and plead against my bodies royal rubble
to award me one more badge to hang
amongst a fussed royale of hearts
and miffed harangues
and speech class slept through,
a half a fang, molar that i had kept back
only for you,
toothy fable, holy sweet sooth,
pencil me in for the soonest.
you have more than my permission
to canal me to the root.
