delirium

nothing's better
than a photograph
of frozen
devourer of things
an anatomy
of engram and mneme
to live
like we never lived before

a shadow
of the will o' the wisp
of castle clouds and the inexpressible
in perfect limbo
between needing
and wanting

so what is it inside?
i don't know
and sometimes
idon'tknowifidon'tknowthat

a silent windchime

please
be the dark gone away

mom

help

where am i?
the lights have all blown out

Body Struggle in blue

I

You made me look at myself
and I hate you.
What have I done?
What did I do?
My own selfish need
for fulfillment
led me to the throne
of self-defilement
and now I see myself,
mirrorlike,
but not so perfectly reflected
as a river mortal's conceit.
The black earth rises
as a plague of theiving locusts
slowly draws near my mind
ripping and tearing.
My heart
previously devoured
sings out in morbid cathedral chants
and I cannot take anymore
of these tormented visions
of sleepless nights
and days
under a tyrranical reign.

II

Do you feel the wrong
you have done me?
And I myself
in accepting
your been-there-before
feeling.
And that girl
doesn't visit you anymore,
following a path
to some old woman's brothel
some whore
who ate the child's dessert
and baked her speechless tongue
in pulsating ovens
again and again
until nothing was left
but a vampire's memory of the sun.

III

If I tell you
will you let me go?
Will you cut this noose
from around a deadbeat's dying limbs
and forget
that I can't bring myself
to remember the pain
of the pleasure
that you've brought me
and torn open
before my broken innocence
lying restlessly
within the dust god's
too used manger
this torment
that boils and bubbles
exploding and scattering
all my sought for answers
to a far gone wind
never to return
until the succession
of a dual wise girl's esixtence
lost on the tongue
of a loose blond curl.

IV
The sky was lavendar
when I sold me
and now
it's a deep sudden blue.

Leaving Me

I hold you delicately
within my hand cage
keeping you safe from despair
with whispers of contented weakness

But you slip away
between the finger cracks
like silver tendrils of water from the blue

And the tighter I grip
the thinner you get
until you are the very air that sustains me

Then you disappear
melt into the inane
leaving me lying in a pool
of your velvet moment memories

Like frail Ophelia
drowned beneath the willows
in a stream of lunatic tears
and flavors of lilac garlands.

liberal human discourse

inserted into the social order      i don't
understand my involuntary interpolation
        ideology constructs us as subjects
         dissect something outside     
the abyss looks in the abysmal leaks out     
afraid to see your self in a two-way? one
way into a 3-dimensional other       world
is safer  if the other doesn't smother the self
     look at 595 the last paragraph      language of subjectivity   you become the subject as the language escapes   we are interpolated ideologically   i'm a symbol   this is me   that is me    me is me   subject of    subject to    i is exclusive    we is inclusive of the different word    you yourself   lions and tigers and bears oh i   old familiar dichotomies   other self   selfless bother   please the teacher with binarisms   we tend to think in west old         new west
oppositional characterization of not east   enter the system   adopt-a-value   and watch as no one picks up the trash   girl to refer to herself   she is positioned unconsciously   i'm implicated   scream no   i am woman    or is it womyn?   the problem is categorical   fuck off   it's what popped into my system first person    then what is has to do with where the possibility is positioned unevenly to Jennifer's point and is reinforced but disrupted   just talking about identity is a matrix   inconsistent contradiction    give an example    where the hope is not here what hope is there?    why all women aren't feminists    bourgeoisie in a volkswagen and a class of priveleged associations and occupations    status symbol grasped with an arm and a leg    American    affect all classes    keep the house    have a place to feel miserable    at least you're not on the street entrapped    how do you know you're free?    only if you don't know you're not    define distinctive human extinction    nature    a tree?    or our feelings for that tree    part of ideology is freedom    you don't quite notice the prison as you pass through    as a result theytheythey called by the name adopt subject    position    freely exchange    voluntarily   women choose   it's a bunch of shit   we believe because we do and don't know not to   choice is an empty offering   limited scope   an illusion   made to feel to know the push   we is not there   no one is offered a way out   a way to intervene   ideology works because it seems to give us a seemless and coherent universe    thestarsthestars    woman is a concept    where she finds the power for change is within the seems   not what seems to be but in between nonetheless    is there?   subject is split   discontinuity   awareness of discomfort    and for a final    on to something completely indifferent    multiple ideologies contradictory   subject written in contradiction   like handprints in concrete   understand how it all works at the top   we all broadly participate   self determination and rationality   liberal human discourse    i am    Descartes was not    was not woman    what are women supposed to be?     irrational    submissive    i have a conflict here    how can i be?    how do women cope?     mental sick    a contest for liberation   a self-fulfilling prophecy    i was invited

Gift of the Magi

The butcher crashed his motor car
and the war screams on shoots the
rifle shot and I wish your look was
not so long since this plague began
the city's lights have all gone dark
a velvet drapery descending on
carefree shouts So who's to watch
the butcher's shop lest his matress
earnings be caught in flame and his
diseased meat succumb to rot.

A mother cries aside dust-filled
graves the agony of lost sons
remembered only by greedy crows
on short white crosses a welcome
home for GI Joe fields of thousands

A son's supposed to see his mother's
last breath What god's mercy rapes
a virgin and sacrafices her only son
for careless souls? This is war sigh simple
excuse a general escapes in air condition
no wind to blow sickly scent to nose
of death-filled bags addressed to apple
pie and mother's oven head for a
holiday gift from a certain sadistic magi

summer shower after a late showing

wet streets bleed neon colors
and ancient movie reels
drain into the gutters
the life of the painted town red
drips with them
and glares at two late stayers
drawing empty phrases
on supersaturated windshields
questioning the right of the sun to appear
and clearly the puddles want them to jump
shattering a red deli sign
and making the street quiver
in the smoke rising from open manholes
they grasp at their heels
as they run for the cover
of a door-hidden stairwell
and a call-you-later kiss

untitled

the smells are all gone
but this is where we slept
and the memories will be kept
by the pillows that cradle my head

two

i was born two women within one
i am the she-wolf with over-full tits hanging low
i am the wolf cub searching for a breast to suckle
and a warm flank to nuzzle
i am the mother of all and the daughter of many
and in my search for my womb
and in the search for my lost cub
i turn in the woods and find myself standing alone
suckling my own breast

barnum freak show

my body is a barnum freakshow
and i am the pretzel man
and in my head
in the den my brain dug out long ago
lies a snake preparing to molt
the snake is coiled tight
like a clock wound up
waiting to strike
just on the hour
every second the color of anger swirls
bright and vivid and hot
the snake so angry
lies waiting waiting to shed its skin

my body is a barnum freakshow
and i am the monkey boy
and where the bloodrunner i was born with
once rested
now lies the heart of a primitive beast
the blood it pumps is blue
and the air i breathe is used
my breath comes in short and
my beat slows to a murmur
slippery as time my heart slides
through her fingers and falls to the floor
with a splash and a hiss

my body is a barnum freakshowand i am the fat lady
who has forgotten how to sing
and where the ghost that once gave me hope resided
now exists a state of perpetual haste
a desire to run
a desire to escape
from her
from this
from the snake that makes up my mind
but my snake it follows and chases
and my getaway is again cut short
by the need to hold her and the desire to run away

untitled 2

like wings of a butterfly
or unspoken matches
wind feeds fire
and fire is passion

speak nothing more
to ears unhearing
speak not of sourceless rivers

say it with a caress
whisper it with flame
the passion may burn to coals
but the love will always remain