Saturday, December 7, 2013

I Left My Door Unlocked

I Left My Door Unlocked

And you barged in my room
During the blue hours of the
Morning, took my car keys –

Looked at my pillowhidden body –
And set your Ipad on
My desk, then licked your lips and
Kissed my mouth cold

I kept my mouth shut
Because my breath smelled like
Dried pike but you just chuckled

Wrinkled your nose
And kissed me like there was a prize in my mouth

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Self Control

There is a writhing
worm in my mind snaking around the things I want to do to your body.
Instead I open the nearest book
to pour salt on the sex-crazed snail and feel
tight spasms in my biceps, my abdominals, my calves as she withers. She turns to a dreadful dried up carcass,
reduced to
chaff blown over
the page that reads:
"those that live in love, God draws to himself and encloses them within himself"

I close the book and dusty dead skin cells shoot out from both ends

Thursday, November 7, 2013

On November 9th

come down
said the blue grass
but the yellowing fellow
only gripped tighter
to the brown barking

branch begging him to
break off, but in spite
his stem pinched
plugging both hands
white knuckled in
pathetic persistence

he wouldn’t pluck
refused to fall –
if it be the death of him
to fall meant to break
the wristwatch and tick
backwards, trickle

independently in to the
unkempt pile in the street
and become
one shade of red in a million

Saturday, October 26, 2013

The Basement

She lingers outside the basement
Facing the closed door
Hugging her middle – she shivers

The door wasn’t this white last December
Or two years ago
When her mom repainted the kitchen

The knob, too, is duller bronze
And locked in place
Like a cocked rifle

Her shoulders shudder – crossed arms
Fingertips crimpling t-shirt fabric
The door was definitely not this white

Her eyes slam shut like dumpster lids
She remembers
What happened behind that door

Before she could even turn the kitchen lights on
Or remove her snow-spotted coat
He was pushing her down the stairs

Her lips curl over her teeth – she remembers
How his legs pinched her waist
Like a hungry bear trap

He forced his meat in her mouth
Vomit burns the back of her throat
She still tastes his salty brown flesh

Feels the freezing cement on her scalp
Her neck stiffens
The door couldn’t have been this white that December day

A rapid thud behind the basement door
Stampedes her pulse
Shoots her eyes open like high beams
And beats closer until

The door swings open
She falls back
Landing on her wrists
They crack like kindling

She’s angled on the linoleum
And her mother stands over her
Carrying a laundry basket
Overflowing with brown towels

“What are you doing on the floor?”
She props the basket on the couch
To fold the towels before they wrinkle
And forgets to close the door behind her

“Please empty the dishwasher like I asked”

But the dungeon is gaping, perpetually laughing
Her ponytail loosens as she scrambles
On her hands and knees

To grab the knob and hush the bully
Sloppily shutting him up pushing her back
Against him hugging her calves to her chest

Could the door have been this white this whole time?

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Walking to Meet You

While crossing the bridge
Two swans sleep
S-curled necks
One touches the bank
The other floats behind
Teasing 6:30 sun
Cradled in rivers palm
They disappear upon our return
Perhaps they moved to willow shade

Sunday, July 28, 2013

She the Sun

Sun, modest as she tends to be
Robes her form
With velvet dawn

Just before her pale tresses
Fall over the earth
Rabbits linger
On the edge of scattered lawns

The bleak night bleeds
Through Seneca Lake
At dawn he gorges himself
On her damp flesh

He slurps – sallow flesh
Hangs at the corners of his mouth
Lake water drips down his chin

The yellow mistress
Disrobes politely, steps forward slowly
A silent carousal of light  
Claims day begin
Her unveiled form shames him

Monday, July 22, 2013

I Can't Wait To Sit In Traffic With You

I on land
And you in the sea
Folding in the waves
Like shadow leaves at dusk
I in open air
You sheathed
With ocean mist
A broken clam shell
Next to dry weeds of the sea
On charred sand

Dull vertigo
Rides you in