November 13, 2013
Janus determined the coin turned in one hand. and one over the mouth.
the eyes of Jacks and the eyes of Mary. turning and turning and the like.
“it’s not the end of the world,” said mother father, “not yet and an unlucky never.” long fingers spinning whirlpools into the lake close to shore.
little girl being falls in and their little boy feelings spread like oil over the surface.
one and one
and more than both is never neither. ever nearer.
daddy witch catches them in her big big hands. long fingers spinning into circles the bodies that are more.
Janus turns the coin again over. his hands are small and the coin shines bigger than his large eyes even. two faces cry into each other and the coin has no sides but one when each face the other and spread legged pull hand to wrist to push their gaping wet holes together facing in. if there were a little drill to the skull they couldn’t know more than they do now, then they will know then- she and they- when more comes.
November 7, 2013
October 25, 2013
Knows the Butcher
Take Time out of a day
follows tenuous prosaic etiquette
to get w/t[f]here
then another Day
(they didn’t know)
Forearm for Pork Loin
but it isn’t a trade…
Value falls of long estimation
Time taken and the Burden a faulty Ours
Bears mix here. There.
1 lens cracked under bare feet mashing the carpet at small hours double ridden home drunk
the other ok
September 21, 2013
or, she will be fine
deadbolt deadbolt chain
hunting down the steel
forget these men
their ingenuity their
nothing to do
TV parts all over the floor
cathode diode little
rubber enema pump
blood in his eyes
the day the screen door flew open
shitting his pants
who’s your daddy now?
shorten her lead
wrapping your hand
a flavour slick along the ribbon
slacken your belt
you bet on her last round
root of filth
earth and water
your eyes crown
a head like a gator’s
scam the room
with your body submerged
teach a younger one the economy of words
mine time for conclusory social experiments
unrealized in bromance
things i want to say to you
he’s said them first
men i’d like to be for you
yr saying my name
“when’s it gonna be ok?”
“it already is”
and i says yrs
full down, the fountain
deep scull fuck
too cheap and the humming bird motel
this is easy for you
you guys don’t talk about anything
“when’s it gonna be ok?”
September 17, 2013
But what if all of it changed suddenly And you could still feel but the feelings all had new names and moved through your body without hiding in the corners. You are sure your brittle knees and creaking elbows and snapping shoulder blades have the dust of them still trapped. Husks disintegrating over three year periods. The time to get through it might have been a curse cast by one having no concept of his power, so a hunger for that which he yielded unwittingly in his frustration over its lack. Or was it that he was clawing at the earth a foot above his head all around in a hole he deepened clawing. Or was it that he knew it could happen and didn’t want it and in arrogance over owning and knowing took off after someone else’s Fate. Picket fence Oedipus, running from and fucking his mother. Anyway, you’ve defriended him.
September 16, 2013
Driven from the castle (thrown out the window), Queens become ducks and circle the moat. Beck of the child King. Bread crumbs once a day on hot days. Swelling hot crumbs on the glistening surface of a pond, too. Man has made and maiden will peddle push a paddle boat out to the middle. Just a buoy, pregnant plastic place holder until the bravest little swimmers pass the ropes kicking. The ropes scratching gently their freed ankles. Dead weed bobble head sea monstress. Death and dying. Breath and breathing. Breed swell to quell the loneliness.
The association is maddening. Yr a pretty girl. Such a pretty girl. So handsome yr brother the picture on his license looks like a cis manchild of fifteen.
He takes it boating and forgets the lesbian shore. Witches have him tethered, just in case. Forgetting is part of the ritual. He will swim back all on his own so the tether wears, seaborne. The theory goes. No need to drag. Salt to the nylon eating thread by thread. Baptist by name and still calling it it. Are we sure, sisters? Are we true? Place a scrap of fur there, on his dick. Lay it there like a scrap on one of Oppenheim’s wooden fingers. Thus robed, he will remember once the forgetting is done. Glue it to his dick. Crazy glue is good for this. Nail it to a board. The whole thing. Dick to the board. Flanagan risen. Opie sunk in.
September 10, 2013
snakemouth [makes] the mistakes feel good.
folded over and can hold the weight of
in a pile on their shoulder.
dough in rough hands
the man above we don’t believe
laughter and laugher
swelling and constant
breath hard and harder into my face.
the hole through your lips
boat tongue that takes
down their throat
pennies for the eyes
drunk and paying the driver
saved and the survivor
take take take
September 10, 2013
August 21, 2013
It took him a long time to die. Well, relative to the rest. I found him floating face down, limbs limply swaying below the surface. He was an arch suspended at the neck, where his body split into a quarrelling twosome. The head was desperate for fairytale and moral and awakening all of Humanity through the ages with a cold, dead stare the unlikely harbinger for Life Itself. I know this because I swam up and checked. Eyes crystal and open. Little bubbles still clinging to the corners and lashes. His hair was net and lodgings. Warm brown and soft, soft to die for. This is where Humanity and Life Itself might have lain and lodged. A ragged warmth like Earth and Fire. Floating in the weary Water. I am tired of holding your hair, said the Water.
His body was no longer ours. Not his. It was The. The Body was pulling the whole thing downwards. The Earth Down There is not the Real Earth. Humanity cannot trust it and does not want down. Life Itself grips the surface like a shard of last hope glass. Maybe there was some blood, too.
I wanted to put the whole thing back together again. The twosome was more than I remembered him being. Limp Life Less and Life Itself. I let out my breath and it swarmed his underWater face. I swirled my limbs in such a way and curled my spine in such a way so as to end up right underneath and just below. From here I wrapped my body around The Body and kissed his drowned mouth. I pushed with all I carried there and we made full circles at the surface like one dolphin or one synchronized swimmer. The two of us one. The Twosome Discordant forced to suck it up and eat its own tale and leave it alone.
We went on like that for many hours and I realized timing was everything and it took him a long time to die. Well, relative to The Rest. He had been napping only twenty minutes. It took him twenty hours. 14,400 rotations like a synchronized dolphin without breathing. Adds up to nine. To die. Three die.
June 24, 2013
daddy made me throw away the mold. he made me throw the mold away. i had hidden it underneath the bed. a place he’d never ever go. secrets he’d never ever know. i was building my own self. my dolly. my dolly, myself. i was to teach her. to walk, to talk. like me. and when she was ready, he would believe she was me and i could go on growing out of myself while she stayed me. forever.
but one day daddy saw. he saw me crawling out from under the bedskirt.
he shook me shook me shook me
and my teeth chattered like my teeth
and my bones rattled like my bones
and my curls bounced like my curls
“I’m sorry,” I said. and wrapped arms
just like mine around his neck.
in a voice just like
and I dragged the mold out from under my
bed, and cracked it in two across my knee.
the mold from which I had hatched
and he will never know.