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