In the Land of Fucked-up-ville

Are fairy tales really what keep

communities happy and

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thriving?  That neighbor and his

beautiful wife, they have such a beautiful

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home.  Their lawn is always cut.  Good

people.  They party with the neighbors,

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in high spirits.  What they don’t know is

that, after the show, he is angry

all the time, at who knows what, and she

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locks herself up in a room

with yellow and green walls.

Contention Hymn

You watch as she squats

on the ground, knees to chest

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as if she could just fold herself

into nothing, at the very most

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something insignificant.  There is

a man there, acting nervous as hell,

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but she won’t look at him.  You wonder

why.  A tear streaks the dirt on her face,

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as she begins rocking back and forth,

on her feet as her body has accordion-ed to

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some sort of tri-folded posture where her

only music can be heard in the hymns of burned

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down cathedral’s ash.  He says nothing: watching.

Looking up to the sun, she says, Don’t

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fucking worry about me, I ain’t nuthin to look at.

Gallery of Ghosts

There are dismembered parts

of every broken heart, constructed

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into a dead museum.  It’s so difficult

to find which soul you’re looking for

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there. Daily the exhibit grows, so

even the shadows are framing

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some shivering sharred of some shattered

heart.  She was such a slight thing,

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in life.  Probably, just a memory of dust

stuck under some glass, now, to spend out

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all days trapped in her untouchable

glass coffin.  Lonely as ever.

Sacrificial Lamb

Little, lame, lamb, you know

your soul meaning to man is nothing

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more than to be a sacrifice.  Don’t

delude yourself with anything

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other than what is.  You have been

brought to the alter so to be bled

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out.  No one wants to carry on with you.

It’s time for you to go

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offer everything, so some fortune

may find those who need more

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from your death than your possession

of life.  Your life is not your own,

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and you know this, so don’t dare

those darling little bleats.  They won’t

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change that to man and all of their institutions

your only purpose is to be sacrificed.  That is why

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you’re here.  The blade traces the soft lines

of your jaw from ear to ear, like a smile

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that never could have shone.  The ancient river

Gods of blood will soon all seep out

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leaving you an empty carcass

with no meaning left.

Goddess of Grief

She’s never fought for, so she has to learn

on her feet.  Feeling unnoticed is all that

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it seems.  She’s not mad you see, rather, she’s sad

that the world put up all that nasty red, red

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rope.  Making your life some sad and silly joke.

It’s the yellow police tape, keeping you

in, so you can give witness

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to what you witnessed —Standing terrified of what

your eyes just watched, wounded in crossfire.

The paper crumples then falls.  It’s like spending

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your lifetime just tryin to get by then there comes someone

who’s eyes show you the time.  Then it is the

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bleeding for the beauty of everything from without.

I Can Be Your God, if You Ask Nicely

Silk and linen makes slow swells

and waves down the crests and valleys of my

sanguine honey-sun- kissed skin.  Flesh is

 

that current coupling desire

and pulsing the pressure of pleasure

into that atmosphere

 

engulfing every second that ticks

in the mind.  Feel breathing

 

on the inside of your thigh.  Rise

and fall each divot on the terrain of tingling

touch it is nothing short of divine dizziness.

 

Mouth swimming each slow deliberate breath

on the sweet salt of sweat beading

on your side.  With a deep swallow

 

in diving, now we fly our limbs over

the humid body’s horizon. The only sounds

are vapors of God.

The Physics of Flesh Orbiting

There isn’t going to be anything

but uncomfortable celestial dancers

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orbiting each other as if they could

defy gravity.  The quivering of skin

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is panic that the pressure-gradient force will

be changed even slightly in some way.  A variance

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in pressure across the honeyed supple surface

then indicates a metamorphosis in force,

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which can result in an acceleration

according to the laws of motion.  A quickening of

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the body is a sincere correlative to—

in the same direction as—the momentum

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acting on the body, and contrary proportionally

to the body’s earnest resolve… if there is no

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additional force to balance it, the force will

cause the bodies to collide,

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despite any will or better judgment.