Thursday, November 30, 2006

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

sentimental poems?

Valentine, Delivered

womb of remembering, did you ever sing
when your cupboard was the lodge
of hoping, bone bare but gleaming
in room -- in fullness -- all possibility
of holding exposed -- expunging
the trouble of emptiness; your ritual
that which comes with a mouth full
of kindness, the sort of wound
that comes singing -- trilling
as if made of steel and string -- that which
propels, clicks in metal, and turns
to flesh in our arms. We remembered
the way night covered our young bodies
with mist and darkness, gathered the stars
to our faces, hummed us to love, welling
as underground rivers bloom into oceans.

Apiaries of April

Days when the curtains close their pink, we are not ready
for the warm wash of the sun nor for it's message
of unblinking thinking: the summer wonder
of long days sorted into weeks. The water empties
to the oceans, its sweet beds of nettles
and crags of corals. For us above water, the task
is to think through any single idea without sleep --
without waiting for the let-go of dusk when swarms
of lights fill out the grass. The moon is a mirror
that doesn't ask our inner twin for kindness --
only for our dreams, the rib-bones of our longing.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

[I used to/ but now I] or [I seem to be/ but really I]

fur in the tea cup, lined
to taste the hems
of foxglove and hyacinth
-the whole veneer
reveals it cracks and fissures -

and bent to drink
like ponies, paintbrush
of sating thistles
combing our lost knots
and hollows, sized
by scissors: schisms

Monday, November 20, 2006

quick poem on the eve of our birth

I had to know
your inside mouth
and the way the snake
slid over the path
to our house, and how
your hand, like a dead bird,
was visible -- gray and unmoving
on the windowsill.
The laurels wait
to fall, but nobody
blossoms. Only moists
loose their singing
wedlocks -- wounds unbound
in bedding knots. Slender
heart, our shovels become
too much for us to merely
tout. Yours was the tilled
bank of sighing. Mine
was the loosened flocks.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

daphnomancy

daphnomancy website also unda construction

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Monday, November 13, 2006

Friday, November 10, 2006

Happiness



















things are good. Really good.

Monday, November 06, 2006

psychedelic hectic















the intensity and boom and flux of the past months is taking its toll on my head, methinks. why else the constant constant throb. always, like ink blooming in water. I've become ultra-sensitive to odor. please do not wear powerful perfume to the movies, folks. It gives me sunbursts and shudders. I want to shutter myself up and curl.

birthday/new moon/scandal

candle candle candle

pictures:


is this real?