Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Forensic dreams

If you could paint the fog, 
there would still
be mandibles and eyes
from homeless dogs,
and jellyfish impressions 
left to feed relentless surfs.

If you could capture
denture fragments left,
would there be footprints
left for sea to wash away?

Would there be air or soil?
Would there be fractured bones?
Or would we feed the pyre
with living flesh of us?

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Monday, September 12, 2016

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Saturday, August 27, 2016

You, too soon

You, my decadence of crypt
the blowtorch locust, you
condemning me to
urban jungles,
to the streets of
filth and coconuts
to blisters
and to beg for cabbage soup.

You, seducer;
you, a flesh of ladybug;
you, a curse of blurry aftermaths;
you, a carrot for this ass of me;

you, too soon, too late for me.

A great wordlist to work from -- thank you Shawna :-)

Sunday, June 5, 2016