my face is a burned book

May 8, 2017

in a beautiful house

i wrap wombs in bluebeard rooms,

the laggard dancer lingers here at satan’s ball,
i’m the keyhole spy,
i’m not involved,

golgothas of perfumed things,
sawbones on a cello string,

silver-handed gamine on a poster with a frame, i’ve always been a failure both in genius and in swain,

“we’re all the same height genuflecting,” says the corpse at every wedding,

disaster’s bastard youth has plodded
manses huge and hypnogogic,

read homilies
with one crossed eye,
a pentecost of giddy heights,
publicans and sinners each,

delicate as gold-beat leaf.


gyre of marine debris

May 8, 2017

coral reef
i glimpsed your face
through jellyfishes/
the sea a clash of jurisdiction/
keelhauled through a polyp’s garden/
parted tides of plankton carcass/ a tartarus of dismal scarlet/ charted waves in garbage flotsam/
moments taught with ample pointers/ plastic stew from too few oysters



March 30, 2016

delicate sir

oh, delicate Sir— let X and Y be verboten,
or the seams in your soles
will swish all the way

to a black feather
pillow fight
under diaphragm crown
where earthquakes offset every masculine sound.

You can take all day
and night to choose
but the ruse which
you wear when
there’s nobody there

will begin to seduce
even you.

-remix of a shoes poem


od magic

January 13, 2015

try to use the claw

I neither taught a lie

nor all I know is true;

I countenanced with animals and unattended wounds.

There chirrs an insect mouthful

and a she-wolf for the blind,

I only fear for foreigners

with appearance on their side.

Heal my broken steer skull and unspoken seedling vagrant,

a giantess prior to power and language.

The quiet lingers only after imprecated words,

and art opposes commerce in boot-legged concerns,

I neither taught in gloaming,

nor to students underfoot,

I profess in dittany I’ve never understood.



July 2, 2010

blonde on top
of brunette seams, I aspire

to be complete,

I’m nothing
on your list of firsts,
a child tugging at your skirt.



July 1, 2010

too many pointers
for me to recall,

the gist of which
I never saw,

throwaway lines,
no decisive victories,
the moves you made you checked with me,

prime numbers
in my jaw birthed
and buried in the caul.


breathing room temperature

June 29, 2010

did you find a human precis
to impale on your lapels?
or is there something else?