Square Peg, liquid window

You should have gone back to bed, sleeping
Faster, rather then invade parts of private thought
Where I turn--- turn and forget: reality
With a few remaining words, raw
Alive in form, wet and still curling from their
Dirty little holes and (invisibly) straddled, a


Fertile paper door that staples shut
The places where our heads swim into fish lips
Coming undone, as we escape the vine
Ripe, pregnant and round, juice behind
The thin skin of an early summer plum, just
To be bound, tighter then ever
Twine around hips, then pinned against
The sway of a branch, silver water


Some offering to the moon
As we linger there… under the sky’s dark awning
An invented equinox, that burns the bottom
Of the pot like dried corn
A tumor trimmed back against its tender vein


And its not loud at first, you and I
Just the crinkle of a snake shedding in a wooden bowl
-- black and pink neon, that flickers
Abandoned beams down to a walkway… leading
Leading… this way to our side, pleasure and pain
The wings of greenish moths, zapped into circles
Of vaporized sulfur, your eyes


Through waffle screens, as you continue
Changing clothes and skins

The Rage

We were the vapor held in under blondish light

Smoke as it shattered and rolled under the door

Moon kissed and turning like a page

Turning, through last nights brandy, spicy

As our eternity… passion drunk

And blood starved for miles flat against your ripe lips

And a sudden electrocuting emptiness

That split me apart, sending me a thousand ways

I was dizzy in white dust, a sprout growing

In a full day of sun

But its all going black now, let out

Frost spiked into ever so slightly

-

Under an even glow

Of spinning stars

 

Flossy Lines

We draw our way through journeys, lifetimes
Productions of places and things with insides that
Indulge, breathe and become lost---
Cloud’s rafting, swimming, changing, going to
Places built from bone
Restless and blind we stir, in some limp hope
Beginning long before we met, from the first
Long drop into someone else’s life, at birth


Matrimony: to the horizon, smaller glimpses
Running deeper into simple things---
Tornadoes of sand spinning, stinging
Blooming into dark purple moons that ring
Under the eyes, blood and shrill voices that drag you
Through halls with their ghosts


Shortly we’ll be engulfed by more nonsense
Night wings that tickle and prance
Beyond the wreckage


Time fluttering home on threads of light
down, down... into curtains of the deep

Once

Here and There:
Time would surly snap
as it split in two, in the slide
down death's blade--
in the curling of a dried stem
as though scissors met a ribbon
whenever we're torn apart

Various emotion still assembles
with the change of weather,
puddling outside the balcony doors
as the window pulls in
more cold air, whenever your gone

Candle lighting, a dangerous game
as wax drips down the edge
of empty wine bottle and
onto the table---

Your shoes sit in a far corner
chewing their own leather
that moment of loss
that presents itself as echoes
stacked on echoes, when home
feels as bare as a
warehouse floor---

And you may never return
to a place that has flowers