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?
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
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
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
A carpenter apprentice
When you build your home,
carpenter apprenticed, from
its walls to roof, from
the carpets to its paint
carefully selected
(you might think),
carpenter apprenticed, from
its walls to roof, from
the carpets to its paint
carefully selected
(you might think),
and afterwards you invite
some friends for barbecue, and
you’re sitting on your porch
clinging to a lukewarm bottle
silenced from what’s done.
some friends for barbecue, and
you’re sitting on your porch
clinging to a lukewarm bottle
silenced from what’s done.
There is a hollow formed inside
an emptiness (a craving)
much like the poet’s empty
notebook begs for ink…
and you wonder (looking at the stars)
if you’ve built your house or if
it is the house creating you.
an emptiness (a craving)
much like the poet’s empty
notebook begs for ink…
and you wonder (looking at the stars)
if you’ve built your house or if
it is the house creating you.
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Monday, February 29, 2016
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Monday, February 1, 2016
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