Saturday, May 12, 2012


The hot protest of your mouth
when you bite your lip
and taste blood and angels
is that moment I believe in God.

I once found him
in a basket of your bones
where you made him a song
and made me a believer
with your dangerous thoughts

and the sweet heresy of your wings...

Friday, May 11, 2012


All he left you
was the fear of flying -
the accidental tilt of gravity
against the air
and pull of atmosphere
that cracked the ceiling
of your bedroom.

You thought he must be Icarus
from the scent
that tattered the sheets
and the soft, white down
you mistook for rapture -
a sweet tryst of love
and friction.

But the sun
was cruel that day -
abrupt and lethal,
beckoning you to the window
to study how he wore
the April morning
and watch as ecstacy

made criminals of his words.

Saturday, May 5, 2012


She would break his heart
in ways he knew
he could grow to love -

how she spoke his name
like smoke,
drawing it out
in cool blue syllables
between her teeth,
her mouth talking that sweet trash
he coveted like new coin.

the red spike heels
he could feel crack his spine
and the slit of her eyes
stripping his muscles and tendons
down to tender shoots
crushed against her chest -
her bones on his,

the sound of being played.

Friday, May 4, 2012


Unhinge my thoughts
with the images
tucked under your blouse -
soft offerings of lace
that pull twilight's edge
wrapping my fingers
in silk stung knots
that unfasten buttons
and ripple your clothes
and leave me enthralled.

Unsettle my world
with the syllables
tucked under your tongue -
those sweet consonants and vowels
that lovers keep hidden,
stripping words down
to primal sounds
that chase down the dark,
and let my mouth wander
and trespass at will.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Bad Love

She loved you like three miles of bad road
the kind of love that peels your skin back
and hangs on you in strips of stained cotton
where the sweat beads up,
or gathers deep in your pockets
with lint and black jujubes
and grows twisted with no air.

She made you believe you were her savior
the kind of guy who crashes cars
in cemeteries at night
while angels play strip poker,
or paints masterpieces with his eyes sewn shut
and reads her body
like a blind man at church.

She pulled you under her low tide
the kind of place where you can walk on water
as long as no one is watching
while she kisses your scars
and studs your frail, white body with leeches,
begging you for forgiveness.

Thursday, April 19, 2012


I caught you
walking out on wires again,
falling out my window
in a trick so beautiful
that your father wept
and your lover
held his breath.
You called it
an act of defiance
in that voice
that brings me to my knees
and begs me
to argue with you
when you know
that all I really want to do
is strip the pain
from your insides
and bed you
like war.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Night Song

Show yourself to me again -
let me trace your features
where memory is afraid to hide,
and the battle of words
knows a prolonged and easy peace.

Teach me what is brilliant
in the dull surprise of unsung notes
and a heart too full of magic
to know its own mind
or find its way back
to the first ease of our beginning.

Speak to me in your riddles
and mysteries,
those enthralling syllables
whose meaning you have stolen
and wear like a silken skin
around your naked thoughts
lest I pluck them from you.

Take me in slow inches
and dress what cannot be fathomed
in soft wishes,
lost in the ashes and whispers of words
where the wicked moon hangs her gypsy heart...