strange horses
forever bowing
cowering at
the dust
joints of rust
just one leg
upon which to beg
for water never drunk
broken bronco:
metal mane
mettle tamed
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Grandmother’s Hands
Sometimes my grandmother’s hands
Behind my own.
Clutch a long, brown cigarette
Between bone.
The smell of her ghost:
Dashed ash along
A rope of smoke—
How do I hold her?
Behind my own.
Clutch a long, brown cigarette
Between bone.
The smell of her ghost:
Dashed ash along
A rope of smoke—
How do I hold her?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Dark Means
Dark means Stop.
It means Go Inside.
It means Hide.
(So does Light—someone might see!)
Dark means Stop.
Dark means Go No Further.
What is more frightening than the Unknown?
Mold, rust, stains, damage.
Or that you can’t
As much as you want
You can’t
Hold a star
Keep the moon
Or the ocean’s blue.
You can see it, but never keep it.
Ultimately, destiny is sleep.
Is Nothing better?
Closed Eyes?
I want color.
Even if it’s Black.
Or is Nothing better?
Certainly better than red and spikes?
Or silent, but not knowing it.
Is that what Dark means?
It means Go Inside.
It means Hide.
(So does Light—someone might see!)
Dark means Stop.
Dark means Go No Further.
What is more frightening than the Unknown?
Mold, rust, stains, damage.
Or that you can’t
As much as you want
You can’t
Hold a star
Keep the moon
Or the ocean’s blue.
You can see it, but never keep it.
Ultimately, destiny is sleep.
Is Nothing better?
Closed Eyes?
I want color.
Even if it’s Black.
Or is Nothing better?
Certainly better than red and spikes?
Or silent, but not knowing it.
Is that what Dark means?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Reflections on the 4th
I
Before the ghost spiders on the sky
Float across the dusky web
They are all eyes: innumerable sparks—
That the air almost instantly suffocates.
II
One strand of fire into the dark
One mighty beat upon the air
And a wondrous web of colored light hangs on the firmament—
But cannot hold.
Before the ghost spiders on the sky
Float across the dusky web
They are all eyes: innumerable sparks—
That the air almost instantly suffocates.
II
One strand of fire into the dark
One mighty beat upon the air
And a wondrous web of colored light hangs on the firmament—
But cannot hold.
Yet
Yet
as i fold
my edges form
my hip
got a cross word
in my throat and i can’t
fight the worms
the black universe
is in the golden earth
of my womb
but my chest
is open air.
Open, Air!
i am trying
to seize
my heart
always ahead
in all ways
a head
emerging so i can’t
articulate can’t
art cultivate
my body’s eArth
has not
birthed beauty
Yet
Wart
My legs have lived exiled
from the rest of my body.
My stomach’s skin reviles
the wastes of flesh below.
Childhood warts once decorated these knees
with their cauliflower pearls of white and blood.
There.
Waiting to be knifed or frozen off
into a crimson blister
upon which all my insecurities sucked.
With satisfaction I removed the gummy white flesh left
revealing the wounded under layer:
red lines of skin already shriveling in
Making wart
the most beautiful word
that ever scared me.
as i fold
my edges form
my hip
got a cross word
in my throat and i can’t
fight the worms
the black universe
is in the golden earth
of my womb
but my chest
is open air.
Open, Air!
i am trying
to seize
my heart
always ahead
in all ways
a head
emerging so i can’t
articulate can’t
art cultivate
my body’s eArth
has not
birthed beauty
Yet
Wart
My legs have lived exiled
from the rest of my body.
My stomach’s skin reviles
the wastes of flesh below.
Childhood warts once decorated these knees
with their cauliflower pearls of white and blood.
There.
Waiting to be knifed or frozen off
into a crimson blister
upon which all my insecurities sucked.
With satisfaction I removed the gummy white flesh left
revealing the wounded under layer:
red lines of skin already shriveling in
Making wart
the most beautiful word
that ever scared me.
O•fell•ia
Tarry Fail
Sleep, sit and shit here in my tower.
Blue splinters in my toes, all in a rose!
Whilst I wait like bait for to let down my hair,
I shall stare at the mirror.
Which wicked witch will I see?
The Old Woman, the Fair Maiden or me?
Ay me! Which perfect Prince—or Beast—shall set me free?
With a Sword? With an Apple?
Perhaps a Kiss?
Or just thee?
I remember that
Once upon a time
they lived
Happily Ever After.
Just as if her daddy loved her
She dresses just as if her daddy loved her.
But he doesn’t.
Left her.
And left
Strangled memories for bedtime stories
Mama’s tears for breakfast’s bread
Empty hands across each street
Maybe even
Hunger and cold
To hold as siblings
Against her skin and bones.
But Mama,
She takes care of her baby
As best she can.
Loves her more than her own skin and bones.
And she works—
She works so she can dress her baby
As if that nothing—
but pain—
loved her.
Adolelesssense
Fluorescent lights harsh on the already red marsh of zits.
Her half-closed bulbous eyes blink into the murky mirror.
She dreamt she woke and cut her hair half-way up
the braid she had forgotten to loosen before she lay down
in her basement bedroom.
There where her cats made moths into dusty picnics
as the sun sucked away at the already gray carpet upon which
she always went barefoot—
the footsteps upstairs sounded like faltering heartbeats through the ceiling-floor.
This cluttered purgatory of falling apart furniture
her parents had bought before they were married.
And a frightening splatter of orange, black and blue
that her father had painted—and she had convinced herself she liked.
Why did she choose a waiting-white eyelet comforter
to court her closet without doors?
She would never reconcile herself
to the muffled sounds from above
that lulled her into darkness
like her mother’s voice used to.
She stretched her hands out for hearts,
but her hands tangled in hair
and backs that never knew.
The globular lamp in the corner whispered romances
while bathwater licked at her.
And she was hungry
for hands, for home,
but couldn’t go upstairs.
A girl addressing her stomach
I know you are hungry.
So am I.
I’ll feed you tomorrow.
Climb the bloody stares to my throat.
Bite the bile from my tongue.
What must I stomach, Stomach?
I’d rather starve
Let emptiness carve
Against these cravings—
For hair! For eyelashes! For full lips!
For love!
For love
I will be the bone
that Hunger gnaws on.
Mirror Stage
So I broke a mirror
Seven years bad luck
Should sweep or else someone will cut—
themselves—
If they haven’t already.
I wonder if I would bleed—
For—Seven years
bad luck—is that some Greek myth?
I’d like to see it—
scratching my
hard skin edge-soft.
I scar scared
Already am
So I broke a mirror
But the mirror broke me first.
Ill Literacy
Scratching with her fingers
Scratching at her wrist
Surely, surely
Anyone can read blood.
O•feel•ia
She crossed her arms—
As if this could hold her.
But she was empty.
And how to contain this absence?
Exposure
The half-light
Of half-night
Dirty snow shining in the moonlight
She wears her backless halter tight
Attention keeps her warm—
Desire’s hot eyes encircling like an arm
But she will come to harm—
She has sold herself to the cold.
Gutter
gut her glut her
smut her slut her
cut her cunt her
shut her
down in the gutter
where you belong
Still Green
I am trampled grass
Still green—yes! And hopeful
But will you please wait to pass?
I’m resting to rise again
Please don’t step ‘til then!
The ground is cold and comforting
I’m fertilized with fear
But my blade will unbend
I will soon have strength to defend
What you so casually crushed.
Green Nurse
Underneath the old blue spruce
On the hill
Grass, downy and sparse as baby’s hair, grows.
She would rest there
But for the milk-brown mud.
But the grass glows
Such a startling green
Such a helpless color
That she is tempted
To spend eternity brushing it
Forsaking clothes and company.
inHERitance
Book pages
Father’s rages
Sworn by the same voice
Do not be meek, Child!
Do not be weak, Child!
Speak—Your peace!
With the words he gave
Renounce the slave
With skin, build
A temple
Against his bricks
Against his blocks
Against his sticks
Against his stocks
Hold the world
Against your breast
There let it rest
For we attest to
Dis man till
The master’s house
With the plough share
With the pruning hook
With the ample anvil
We will sit under vines
We will sit under fig trees
And Feed All!
Sleep, sit and shit here in my tower.
Blue splinters in my toes, all in a rose!
Whilst I wait like bait for to let down my hair,
I shall stare at the mirror.
Which wicked witch will I see?
The Old Woman, the Fair Maiden or me?
Ay me! Which perfect Prince—or Beast—shall set me free?
With a Sword? With an Apple?
Perhaps a Kiss?
Or just thee?
I remember that
Once upon a time
they lived
Happily Ever After.
Just as if her daddy loved her
She dresses just as if her daddy loved her.
But he doesn’t.
Left her.
And left
Strangled memories for bedtime stories
Mama’s tears for breakfast’s bread
Empty hands across each street
Maybe even
Hunger and cold
To hold as siblings
Against her skin and bones.
But Mama,
She takes care of her baby
As best she can.
Loves her more than her own skin and bones.
And she works—
She works so she can dress her baby
As if that nothing—
but pain—
loved her.
Adolelesssense
Fluorescent lights harsh on the already red marsh of zits.
Her half-closed bulbous eyes blink into the murky mirror.
She dreamt she woke and cut her hair half-way up
the braid she had forgotten to loosen before she lay down
in her basement bedroom.
There where her cats made moths into dusty picnics
as the sun sucked away at the already gray carpet upon which
she always went barefoot—
the footsteps upstairs sounded like faltering heartbeats through the ceiling-floor.
This cluttered purgatory of falling apart furniture
her parents had bought before they were married.
And a frightening splatter of orange, black and blue
that her father had painted—and she had convinced herself she liked.
Why did she choose a waiting-white eyelet comforter
to court her closet without doors?
She would never reconcile herself
to the muffled sounds from above
that lulled her into darkness
like her mother’s voice used to.
She stretched her hands out for hearts,
but her hands tangled in hair
and backs that never knew.
The globular lamp in the corner whispered romances
while bathwater licked at her.
And she was hungry
for hands, for home,
but couldn’t go upstairs.
A girl addressing her stomach
I know you are hungry.
So am I.
I’ll feed you tomorrow.
Climb the bloody stares to my throat.
Bite the bile from my tongue.
What must I stomach, Stomach?
I’d rather starve
Let emptiness carve
Against these cravings—
For hair! For eyelashes! For full lips!
For love!
For love
I will be the bone
that Hunger gnaws on.
Mirror Stage
So I broke a mirror
Seven years bad luck
Should sweep or else someone will cut—
themselves—
If they haven’t already.
I wonder if I would bleed—
For—Seven years
bad luck—is that some Greek myth?
I’d like to see it—
scratching my
hard skin edge-soft.
I scar scared
Already am
So I broke a mirror
But the mirror broke me first.
Ill Literacy
Scratching with her fingers
Scratching at her wrist
Surely, surely
Anyone can read blood.
O•feel•ia
She crossed her arms—
As if this could hold her.
But she was empty.
And how to contain this absence?
Exposure
The half-light
Of half-night
Dirty snow shining in the moonlight
She wears her backless halter tight
Attention keeps her warm—
Desire’s hot eyes encircling like an arm
But she will come to harm—
She has sold herself to the cold.
Gutter
gut her glut her
smut her slut her
cut her cunt her
shut her
down in the gutter
where you belong
Still Green
I am trampled grass
Still green—yes! And hopeful
But will you please wait to pass?
I’m resting to rise again
Please don’t step ‘til then!
The ground is cold and comforting
I’m fertilized with fear
But my blade will unbend
I will soon have strength to defend
What you so casually crushed.
Green Nurse
Underneath the old blue spruce
On the hill
Grass, downy and sparse as baby’s hair, grows.
She would rest there
But for the milk-brown mud.
But the grass glows
Such a startling green
Such a helpless color
That she is tempted
To spend eternity brushing it
Forsaking clothes and company.
inHERitance
Book pages
Father’s rages
Sworn by the same voice
Do not be meek, Child!
Do not be weak, Child!
Speak—Your peace!
With the words he gave
Renounce the slave
With skin, build
A temple
Against his bricks
Against his blocks
Against his sticks
Against his stocks
Hold the world
Against your breast
There let it rest
For we attest to
Dis man till
The master’s house
With the plough share
With the pruning hook
With the ample anvil
We will sit under vines
We will sit under fig trees
And Feed All!
Poly Ticks
Ama•zon
Clothe me, Colombia
Lush Greens against the green go
I am that Amazon Warrior
That Shake Spear dust
I exile rust
From Minds, from Ears, from Hearts
Pierced with darts of Love
This Cupid of Color
Commands Compassion
Without Ration
Armored with Amor
I will give you more
Than
supply and demand
aluminum cans
celebrity fans
fully-equipped vans
expensive brands
grasping hands
slipping sands
With bared skin I will win
You
From greed
From gluttony
From US
Old Glory
Stars stuttering like teeth
Against the red lines of defeat
Gums gored at the bits of blue
Foaming white at the mouth.
What is our fight now?
Decaying green
Black turmoil
Defiling distant soil
Where are our mouths?
South of ourselves
And what was before
Is no more
Gone that long battle
For Goodness and Truth
Now a yell-low
Now a silent mouth.
Election Elegy (November 2, 2004)
the Heartland is red tonight.
boxes breaking with the weight of Right—
to bear harms, to speak meekly.
the Heartland is red tonight.
Republican red.
Iraqi dead.
Soldiers bled.
Conscience fled.
the Heartland is red tonight.
O Country cry for thee!
sweet land of misery—
You bring—
Life? Liberty?
No. Just ice for all
to
Numb this pall
and
Deafen the call
to free doom.
But I say to you
I rack a piece of US
for some peace
Between the Irakeys and the Soul-die-rs
Who open each other
with blood
A burning bush war locks the world
Consuming love with
Consuming Demoncracy
Everything is falling into the Gorge
of glut-ton-y and se-pare-hate-shun
No more idols
Read the Bible
Thou Shalt Not
Mother Noose
Round and round the Marlboro bush,
The money chase the diesel.
The man—he thought it was all in good fun,
Up! Goes the weasel.
Ring around the row-sy
A pocket full of POW-sy
Bashes! Lashes!
We all fall down!
The weasels are in the meadows
Eating better cups.
Cash is! Ashes!
We all shut up!
American Idle
Conspicuous Consumers
Entertained by Rumors
of
Celebrity
Vanity
Notoriety
Infamy
TV On:
Culture Bomb.
Off goes Conscience.
Off goes Care.
As We Stare:
Corruption Syndicated.
Violence Vindicated.
Indifference Placated.
Sex Saturated.
Petrified Potatoes
On the Couch
of
Oblivion.
American’t
Well-to-do, Well to do—
O too few!
Blocks of Billboards and Stores—
Of Give Me Mores! Give Me Mores!
I am free—
To Buy
And Sell the sky
And love a Lie
And worship “My—
Stuff!”
And never ask Why
People Die while
I eat my American Pie—
Cherry—Red like the Blood
I do not Spy
Cause I turn both Eyes
Against my brothers’ and sisters’ cheeks!
Against their cries!
Because I Can’t
Clothe me, Colombia
Lush Greens against the green go
I am that Amazon Warrior
That Shake Spear dust
I exile rust
From Minds, from Ears, from Hearts
Pierced with darts of Love
This Cupid of Color
Commands Compassion
Without Ration
Armored with Amor
I will give you more
Than
supply and demand
aluminum cans
celebrity fans
fully-equipped vans
expensive brands
grasping hands
slipping sands
With bared skin I will win
You
From greed
From gluttony
From US
Old Glory
Stars stuttering like teeth
Against the red lines of defeat
Gums gored at the bits of blue
Foaming white at the mouth.
What is our fight now?
Decaying green
Black turmoil
Defiling distant soil
Where are our mouths?
South of ourselves
And what was before
Is no more
Gone that long battle
For Goodness and Truth
Now a yell-low
Now a silent mouth.
Election Elegy (November 2, 2004)
the Heartland is red tonight.
boxes breaking with the weight of Right—
to bear harms, to speak meekly.
the Heartland is red tonight.
Republican red.
Iraqi dead.
Soldiers bled.
Conscience fled.
the Heartland is red tonight.
O Country cry for thee!
sweet land of misery—
You bring—
Life? Liberty?
No. Just ice for all
to
Numb this pall
and
Deafen the call
to free doom.
But I say to you
I rack a piece of US
for some peace
Between the Irakeys and the Soul-die-rs
Who open each other
with blood
A burning bush war locks the world
Consuming love with
Consuming Demoncracy
Everything is falling into the Gorge
of glut-ton-y and se-pare-hate-shun
No more idols
Read the Bible
Thou Shalt Not
Mother Noose
Round and round the Marlboro bush,
The money chase the diesel.
The man—he thought it was all in good fun,
Up! Goes the weasel.
Ring around the row-sy
A pocket full of POW-sy
Bashes! Lashes!
We all fall down!
The weasels are in the meadows
Eating better cups.
Cash is! Ashes!
We all shut up!
American Idle
Conspicuous Consumers
Entertained by Rumors
of
Celebrity
Vanity
Notoriety
Infamy
TV On:
Culture Bomb.
Off goes Conscience.
Off goes Care.
As We Stare:
Corruption Syndicated.
Violence Vindicated.
Indifference Placated.
Sex Saturated.
Petrified Potatoes
On the Couch
of
Oblivion.
American’t
Well-to-do, Well to do—
O too few!
Blocks of Billboards and Stores—
Of Give Me Mores! Give Me Mores!
I am free—
To Buy
And Sell the sky
And love a Lie
And worship “My—
Stuff!”
And never ask Why
People Die while
I eat my American Pie—
Cherry—Red like the Blood
I do not Spy
Cause I turn both Eyes
Against my brothers’ and sisters’ cheeks!
Against their cries!
Because I Can’t
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