Monday, August 29, 2011

Upon eating a Pomegranate in January on the floor, directly after a long day of work

Blood, child of my arm,
coaxes crocuses from my thumbs
and forefingers to greet the white
winter light that falls on to the pillars of cold practicum.

She knows not what she opens, red life
seeps into the quick of her thumbs and draws a map
of celebratory streams over her wrists, Solomon at the slaughter
of the lamb, torn between serving God and protecting
the flesh of his body, his son.
This geographic topography in relief
to the rest of her life draws points to form a path
to the pool in which fish do not swim, nor birds bathe,
but coaxes orchids and bug-eating plants to do what they cannot:
coax life from sandy shoals, shaded forest floors, and renewing swamps.

Bare thighs and toes exposed reap the benefit of these maps.
Cheeks, chin, tongue, lips teeth revel in the bitter-sweet chocolate live-giving blood:
Texhotohuitil, a child after gorging on the Sardinian festival of meat.
Tongue, throat, belly still tingling with the vulnerability of those
round red beads whose heads break while fore-fingers and thumb
delightfully crack open the delicate red skin: a pig-skin football of antioxidants,
an offering to the deity, to the future, to hope-
Its cracking, effusive and plentiful juices, a tight unfolding of the biological creatures without voices,
who elicit their receptiveness to pollination in the smooth unfolding
of stamen and petals, often bringing their own richness of color and pattern: albino,
burgundy, violet: streaks, spots, blotches.
She readies these with her fingers
and forms points of contact with brandied wood slats:
cold feet and pomegranate juice pools,
where touch fulfills our symbiotic and essential connection with the external world;
and espouses, most clearly, what it is to be human.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Gay Marriage Day in San Francisco or The Socially Unaccepted Persona

Fiesty monkey day
driving into this bare sanctum
Lies plaintively at the sky
a prison s/he's convinced
s/he created, so fights, fights, fights
against the being
s/he thought was hers/his.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

On Writing Friday's Poem

skin tingles, my toes curl, adrenaline sends
churlish waves through my intestines
seltzer of coconut water and ice
Friday the cool popsicle tongue
wearing a yellow banana

she is panting in my living room
and outside the weather is stunningly beautiful.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


It's been night for hours, the eye swallowing in the flourescent street lamp,
which it's draped with her lid and peers down into the crowded city street,
spies the freeway on the left where cars and trucks roar and thrash at the air,
buzzing with white yellow photons like a flower's pollen disturbed by bees,
or the spores of a puff fungi, kicked into the air in great flumes,
bearing light, sounds of bus brakes, funelled air, cigarette smoke,
and the narrative voices of hipsters.

I sit on the floor of the eye, the lid wafting over my body,
forming a triangle with my toes, nails raised to my face,
stained, wet, posed before the cracked flesh of the fly-eye.
A single bulb illuminates the amber varnished pine panels, the eye-lid blinking.
And from where I sit on the floor, the fruit opens its mouth,
a mute chick's, brilliantly red, obsequious.

I split the mottled red crust into pythagorean pieces.
It's blood pours into the blackened spaces of the floorboards,
draws a crooked line down my leg, as my teeth eagerly
scrape and scoop out its fish eggs. My mouth radiates tangency, filth, corruption.

Above me, the eyeballs roll to reveal only white,
and by body revels in the sensory presence.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

St. Basil's Cathedral

She crawls through vines
to realize electric orange nails are growing
where there should be flower buds, the sepals and stamen are
dewey, naked eyeballs, the whites predominante, the corneas ebony,
blue, hazel, ruby, saphire, carnation, and so on, bedecked with cowls
of studded jewels, reflecting light admist the masses of silvwhispering to each other
and where there should be leaves, toungues, pink and tiny,
like those of babies, grow next to dog-like ones, wet, dropping,
like an unfurled roll of toiletpaper and trailing enough drool
to water the entire garden. As it were, where drops of it fell
into the cool black dirt, newborn ferns open their mouths and caw for food .

Above her, through the luscious lenghts of aloe-like vines,
she observes the sky embroiled in pink, purple above St. Basil's Cathedral.
A dozeon or so puffs like frosting on cupcakes, adorn the towers in great luscious
swirls of buttercream and creamcheese whips, lavishly colored in blold twists
of green and white stripes, gold candy pears, pink and purple diamonds,
green and gold food-color over harded hot chocolate,
halves of chocolate disks and candied fruit slices in lime, orange, lemon, and cherry.

She skirts out of the tangle of animae vegetation and discovers her body is coveredin some smooth, cool, snakelike guise from head to toe, accentuating her bodily curves and giving off a lime electric green color that reflects light from portions that happen to be in direct contact with the sky's light. In it she feels light and bouncy. She is so enamored of her new costume that she bounces right into a galloping entourage of knighted men of swords and metal-tipped spears on well-groomed steeds. Several flags whipped in the wind, indicating an alliance with the Russian Emporer, Peter the Great.