Friday, December 25

this. this, looking

The photographs that circulate
Hiding and coming from beneath,
Showing nothing for symmetry.
See that mosquito,
Floating a few intransmissible seconds
Against the rectangular colour of light,
He will find his way.
That bastard,
Tasting my blood in a minute I am sure.

And swallowing that glutton’s shadow
Lying in a room naked,
Watching your bodies rise after a long time
Eavesdropping on the movements behind that door,
You imagine yourself in an orgy
Or the king beckoning his prize for sex,
Then the sounds do not call out.
How these fucking myths live.
My fantasies bear no mention in my will.
That silence is an empty wooden jewel box,
I carry wealthy shit around,

Monday, December 21

Listen to your father.

There is he around you, leaning with a neck of fond. I watch reflectively, that he is my object. And there is nothing there, around his eyes. No dark circles, no lines crossing, no wrinkles meeting, they watch like a crow’s beads, absorbing shit and more. And he watches me with them, with love, earthly and bald and there, right there. Sitting there with love. And I do not stop it. What about men with longer hands? They are just luckier. He has beads. He doesn’t look elsewhere. I must remain happy for that he promises.


And then it creeps in again today
Shaking the minds out of its boxes,
And scattering them in the wind
Lulling the body to sleep,
Catching bodies and love
In every step.

Dost thou cry?
In truest spirit of thou word?
Wont to stay in the dark?
Spill the water and the blood!

The male performs,
Killing the little with his eye.
We all suck for food.
Wishes perhaps that would do me
And my life a favour.
Pass me some good.

The air hovers over the bod
die as she sleeps,
for doesn’t all of me dry asleep,
and fighting swords tire?
Carry me and kill the king and queen,
And we may marry multiples.

As I wash my hands in blood,
Will someone wake the body up?
We must run way, sandstorms
Creak well with every race
After all the nights,
They only make noise
And grind sand in the air.

Sunday, December 13

Like you, for me.

I need you to remember
The body of yesterday,
The voice and the air.
You cannot forget the light,
Or its dimming to a nothing hollow and
How geometry feels in the dark,
Later against you nude=
How I traced, the
Nailed finger tips in a swishing of some clothes
Pushing against you, warm still self.
Hold me till I stay,
My breasts, my stomach and my hair
-the compressions in your mind.

Friday, December 11

Loops of old love

Fearing tomorrows, why do I live,
Love the night and her friends,
Dark, stay, stay tonight.
Let me hear you call
The phone telling me my name again
And again imprinting your love
Through lines of our days

Crying tomorrow’s tomorrows, laugh.
See the dying day and her child
Know, you must leave,
To lie luck to you without
Me and my coughing laughter,
Resting the time down in my heart
Through the arrows of my mind

Wednesday, December 9

Light and eye

cradled up, might you see-
the call of unwhitened things-
and disagree in your movement-
of interest into a twinkle-

and I twinkle twinkle

grin at little stars all around
overlook the white walking sound

-that seeing, I forget men who stumble with sticks
-women, of harsh, happy voices
-overseen magic, I stumble into corners
-And live there blind to curves in a lens.

Monday, December 7

Leaves today

The quietness of my sublime
Merges with faces, talking in
Arrays of genial reflections
Bouncing, leaf dragging down
The soul of my early morning,
And I bind my mouth
Eager embrace of silent words mutter
To me, quiet-quiet,
Warming in the sun, a shadow
Of formless black
Drying to make sound

A time for me to lie,
tossing you there and here
Let the wind cry.