sweet blue winter

sweet blue winter
i’m ready for you.

this morning i greeted your first thick fur
with genuine surprise.

sometimes i feel my partial identity;
fleeting and tip-toeing, she’ll exude me
and the never-saying, never-words
i can’t recapture
can’t remember.

today, i feel less of you. i tried to love you like pine
but burnt and warped i escaped
and felt my peaking rise. absence

purchase pear

purchase pear;
a felted mind crossed.
puck and fluff, she’s-a, she’s-a
hymmmm
‘n.

(plastic fare)
((purchase pear))
snowing frozen ground.

ballot measure in this war on terror
war on terror:

_ape a concealed verb

is _ape a concealed verb?
a demonstrative offense?
a habitual stain breeding shape - nothing?

if i say, “no,” a data rock will pulp my name
to prove how wrong;
if i say, “yes,” pale in light, i’ll go dark
and empty my fat wallet: a costing frame gone lean and bone.





populations of dust line my steering wheel
dust these fingertips
prints:
a smooth dna transfer ruined
by a sneeze.

a wet root will bloom

a wet root will bloom, bind, and fruit
for your lips.
a wet clay will flood, rise, and silt
your rice and red beans.
a wet jew will reanimate, mormonize,
and mistranslate “cost.”

the sun, she makes

the sun, she makes
the fracture
all beaut;
how does she tan
melt
beat
and birth?
is it the ‘s’ that lends her
her name and
divide?

quantum morning physics

quantum morning physics
a parse sparing
of tuned bristles
like whiskers
and raw faces.
sikh and tanned hides: my white plausibility
brighton, paced, alcoheld
by ten fingers tall in one glass
and that sideway tilt
that tilts it all.

delivery esperanto

i miss you from that void,
which she said to herself, but kept it inside. she will not pebble on this; she will maintain her guilt.

i am in need of a surrogate mother. i am the child of a romance born out of a pressurized gymnasium.

i have a hot, wonton love; i have a wet, wonton love,
and his mama's gonna buy him a mockingbird.
i champion my weight so please be my low bass c,
cuz i need, i need.

august 11, 2008

i love these quiet mornings up here.
they are cold and fresh
and i feel calm again; at rest.
these autumnal clouds peeking early
eleven into august
delight me, and even in
the absence of warmth.
genocide reports from
radovan karadzic
omar el bashir
bobby mugabe.
vladimir putin tugging south ossetia from
mikheil saakashvili and from president
w. bush: oil paths. and here
i am, an olympian in mourning and hoping.

the canadian boarder

i'm nearer to the canadian boarder now,
the canadian coast's foaming waters and floating fish are up in my nose.

lincoln lifted the coffin lids
of his dead children -
washington spiritualist movements, rapping on the kitchen table.

i know how you sleep

i know how you sleep.

you sleep on your side, nested with a body
pillow against your chest and between your knees.

you will not sleep like this in iraq.

logistically, this is probably because your bunk will be twin,
and there isn't the room you've become accustomed to
in your queen bed.

your air force-issued pillow will probably be one,
and you'll want that for your head,
not your knees.


i wonder if you'll sleep with your mouth open like you do now.
it's dry there.
it will dry out.

woman-cow skin

woman-cow skin tacked taunt toldstoy told sayed told natives that thick is cunning and can’t be fact or fat this is possible this is meringue this limited to twenty-one licks and kicks and oh keep your blue bells keep your sprite cans and corpses crowning and kicking up dirt half calendar dates on time for white lilies or yellow madagascar expressions tentacles with suction cups that suction paper cups does this look brown does this look like the absence of all color blue powders soaps and clean paper post cards from where else blueberry country slang for knocking liquid papers dried up flowers and black scissors that cut construction paper that cut and cut and rip at fabrics with no patterns patterned on pol pot's canoe fill this coffee cup with tea and half a finger of honey mood blues mood electric diamond punch bowls water drops kicking sea turtles kick up sand and blue and green japanese cotton blossoms this is possible this is meringue this is not a chair luther take out marble table cloths twist ties cut ant cut used queue tips edgardo bonilla and tick cold creams bite conscious for mark ups and cut ups and kiln fires of course high kicks kicking this is possible this is not a snow shovel and this is not the color yellow cigarette butts it can in bank parking lots your sleep number and lo and behold that pirate ship has no sailed but fishnet stockings under blue blazers and twenty-one licks in mammoth grade mem her ease haven't got a coroner and tighter teeth and this is either possible or not and bullets doused in steak sauce taste hot and dead like meat and skin:

tell me what you eat,
and i'll tell you what you are.
i eat flipper muscle, torn and ripped from delicate appendages of cowboys.
muscle that floats on curried water
next to flakes of shell.

cherry khawadja

there are some things i'd like you to know:

mainly, that the khawadja is always assumed to be a doctor,
so people rush to them with children with bullets in their lungs,
but khawadja is almost always a photographer.

and that in the mornings,
families have to choose rape of their women, or castration and murder of their men.
so they send their wives out of the idp's to collect firewood and water,
knowing the janjaweed are waiting.

and that if you go south toward colerain on 27 in ohio,
you can buy cherry juice and turnip mustard on the side of the road.
the man who sells it is a farmer, and i saw him there yesterday.

raccoon

raccoon paws the corn and clams left
washed and covered from sands and banks of mind.
cupped palms receive muscle, ripped and torn,
and muscled muscle pushes down raccoon throat.

inspiration pear

it is a mother inspiration pear.
p
l ea se.

why is that constant fuzz so appealing? why is it so lush when rough?

pre-constraints have made her blade dull,
and she is kept.

mother superior mother superior
jump and bleed.

the pace of wine

the pace of the wine that has so drastically changed our words
is no longer a question of a factual honeysuckle -
the honeysuckle has always had the yellow
with the white and the green.
when you see me as a series, your view is complete.


once the rain washed away our sins,
now the rain reveals them.


if you tan here, you burn your epidermis and increase your odds of being hott.

i am told i wear my ethnicity on my face -
my bones keep few secrets; they say, “you can't blame me, i am not american.”

rice blossoms

drop grains of rice into a cup of water
and blossoms will grow.

you must ask for “red mouth”
and the things, places, and rivers will suffer.

i and i go waltzing

i and i go waltzing.
i and i have time for skies so pale
i and i cannot see blue from white.

stretched thin over teeth,
i and i run tongues
across sky-film: taste jet fuel and carbon
feathered, undo smoke and eyes.

hand and hot

when the vinegar is poured, hand and hot,
the buttermilk curdles
and separates the cream.
it is the cheesecloth that catches and maintains,
the cheesecloth that suppresses.

she and she who opened her eyes, ruddy and blue,
and saw that it is light.

i am made witness and bearer of creation.
the hot vinegar curdles in her womb
and births to spoils
to the hand of the cloth.

open-palmed this cup collects the oil of her tears
and is nuanced by a name
of a woman.

harmless monarch

harmless monarch trapped in this direction
black bull
black cow,
will i ever be blameless?

the flat direction of sod keeps a sprout to the ground.
pace
pace
hymn.
this is the direction of a cattle car,
a tragedy of certain concerns.

mother cow

mother cow is a space not incomplete
a ripening of fruit
for biting
and ripping
: to tear with teeth

orange in disposition
to taste, to eye
and i, extinguished in areas of faith
of cup
and body:
waves pleat against these ribs,
they are a rhythmic pulse.

she cries amber oil
that blossoms and shines her faith.
she will pack red clay on her feet
and pace her impurities.

buttermilk suppression

when the vinegar is poured
the buttermilk curdles
and separates the cream.
it is the cheesecloth that catches and maintains,
the cheesecloth that suppresses.

i am made witness and bearer of creation.
the hot vinegar curdles in my womb
and births to spoils
to the hand of the cloth.

open-palmed this cup collects the oil of her tears
and is nuances by a name
of a woman.

orb

orange in disposition
to taste, to eye
and i, extinguished in areas of faith
of cup
and body:

she cries amber oil
that blossoms and shines her faith.
she will pack red clay on her feet
and pace her impurities.

punc gutter

punc gutter.

sampson

smpson might
tear a roll
ed nut 'n poppyseed
feed
for hummingbirds and scotch birds
'n mirth
in a turkey
swallowing stones
in kidney pie.

hudson

minks, beavers, water-rats
and the snow-rush
a pellet in a pellet makes a pellet
and 20 quid
to buy an oil fish; gut it for the
black bile.
humor me,
and squeeze its black eye
and pack it on ice and salt
down to charleston.

fugue

in a bell horn
on the stone wall
that humpty dumpty cracked
to feed the children
like fish and bread
but with more cholesterol -
a 90's version
of the bethlehem blues.

good evening, mother caterpillar, you shall come with your husband to church on meatfare sunda

light is waxing a roman cure.
the grave-diggers with pipes in their mouths and bottles of wine
snap their connexion with the sun:
“the corn-cat will come and fetch you,”
purrs the wheat-wolf, holding open-palmed straw, bent to ash.

“slava of slava: drop the beak fruits
and the seeds and rices will be sown and sprouting,”
the corn-cat replies.


i am ra at noon, i am tum at eve.


when black mother cow refreshes with milk, peas, and dried pears, she moos:
“turn not your face away
from your servant,
for i am in distress;
hear me speedily and answer me,
draw near to my soul and deliver it.”

a large fish is killed to the empty pot of wine:
the dried fish forms mother cow's diet,
and hot water touches wine and wets the fish again;
rose and lily,
the mistletoe that cannot fall to the ground shrivels to vine
and anointing it with spices, mother cow wraps it in linens
and places it in the grave-diggers' tomb.
sheafs of corn puck at their sides, and they sing:
“a trial is held where the brandy is dug:
wise thief, in one moment made worthy by the wood
of your mistletoe.”

the corn-can lays the wheat-wolf's straw in the hen's nest,
and she can no longer carry away her eggs.

afflication sun

i am wine.
i am sapphire
on indigo beaches
perched
on a white rise
opaque from sands, threads,
eclipsing blue and green.

baited cloves dropped in:
my sleeve is bleeding,
and i am perforated.

in a world where i can drink you
there is a holocaust of mind:
without speaking, i know which traumas will die;
i have seen them lined up,
in their waiting.
their mouths are hollow,
and drinking makes them whole.
they soothe,
this is how you die:
cooking fish on the floor,
tossing bones in garbage heaps
that rot like a crown of willow leaves
on a vietnamese girl, washing her hands in hot water
with a bar of pig fat.

love poem to my cousins, gordon and holllis

thanks, guys, for talking about me
on your facebook walls.
it really made me feel good.
thanks for the text messages
telling me i'm cool, too.
they also made me feel good
about myself.
you guys are nice to me.

good evening, mother caterpillar, you shall come with your husband to church

light is waxing a roman cure.
the grave-diggers with pipes in their mouths and bottles of wine
snap their connexion with the sun,
button-snake root,
and sparrow the black drink.

"the corn cat will come and fetch you,"
mews the wheat-wolf.
"salve regina: drop the beak fruits
and the seed-rice will be sown and sprouting."

a large fish is killed to the empty pot, the cock-beer,
the redeemer's blood
in the roses and lilies
crocuses and violets
a clog or block,
the mistletoe that cannot fall to the ground.

golden bow

in a world where i can drink you
there is a holocaust of mind:
without speaking, i know which traumas will die;
i have seen them lined up,
and their waiting.
their mouths are hollow,
and drinking makes them whole.

the girl who came from the sun: seven

baited cloves dropped in:
my sleeve is bleeding;
i am perforated.

the girl who came from the sun: six

a hiving drone
of hearted armor;
laundered and razed

break break broke

ornamental submission.

the girl who came from the sun: five

gun powder vertigo infection
a good child time
a sunflower
growing both ways.
sprayed fruit
iveyed, filtered by a white wine,
saged, seeded, drawn
and dried by cold.

the girl who came from the sun: four

armband thermostat,
a sexy wonton idea.

transversion on a double chin
with no collagen treathment in sight.

the girl who came from the sun: three

looping
broken blonde
and i haven't a token
too irresponsible paisley
yukon potatoes

the girl who came from the sun: two

accidental crossing,
12% of the way.

this is obscene:
continuous fresh death
a rot
on us.
a rogue responsibility that will grow roots
in our dna.

i crochet in a chicago airport -
every distopian novel
i've ever read.

the girl who came from the sun: one

affliction sun:

prospero blown pearls
from ray
shone like ruby punch.

i am wine.
i am sapphire
on indigo beach
for nia,
perched
on a white rise
opaque from sands, threads
eclipsing blue and green
shi'ite and suni
dead, but alive.

para flotata

crimson assumption
pickled beneath
pome gold
and blued gowns:

salted apples foaming
memories eternal