Holding my hand in the parking lot and I skip over gritty yellow lines. Promise me you'll buy me lunch and really that's all I need. Later I take your hand in mine and, bored, I study it. Polished slick nails, a shiny ring, lots of smooth, soft skin. Lines in your palm, you let me open and close your hand to watch them crumple and bloom. Walking to the store with a friend without you for the first time ever. Lines in the sidewalk - (don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back...)...

There is a poem here, I know it. Somewhere, locked behind the glass with the tortoises. We watched them make love. There was something human about them... did I leave that poem in his open mouth, her passive stance? Did it wriggle underneath the sand, the rock, so as not to intrude? We were intruders enough. I think it followed us home. It followed you and whispered in your ear, told you, while you were half asleep, dreaming, and still half drunk to pull at my panties. Too tired to move, we f...

Little music... featherspeckled, crested and rosy cheeked. Incessant twisting skull, incandescent black glass eyes. We won't touch you, little music, we promise, if you only sing for us the way you sing to birds outside. Twitter and laugh for fat brown sparrows, pretty finches. Caw the crows away and beckon in cardinals. So effulgent and evanescent, draw them in for us. Little lonely music, maybe you know... your sky's encased in window screens. Tree bark polished smooth, always seeds in your...

We trudged through the marsh and wet grass to dig up your grave. We found it empty, we sure didn't find you there. It ain't no big thing, hey. Never thought we'd see you again and I didn't really want you mud-crusted old and rotten. Your lady, she went and sold off your farm. No place to go for anyone no more, she bought a little blue house and keeps the goats in a shack with a floor made of shit. I just want to know: is that okay with you? If she goes a little crazy? I saw you once in a clou...

Hands 2/21/08 She has beautiful hands. Graceful and fluid, she traces them over my body and it makes me alive. I never see her attend to them - no nail files, scissors, lotions. Maybe that's something she does in private, but it almost seems more likely that it's just a natural radiance, God-given, that makes the skin so fine, nails so neat, palms so tender. Sometimes I take them up and study them, roll them over in front of my face, manipulate the digits, while she lies languid on the bed by...

There is roadkill on the street, bloody bones and fur, asphalt doesn't care. In my car I'm just another pair of eyes, just something driving on by, but the way the air hangs today, the way I can taste something in it, something so old, even ancient, but still familiar... I am there in the street, open and trying to be pure, no one ever cares.

they don't know the first thing about you - literati, scholars, readers and rubberneckers put you under and watch the blood run out leeches on your eyes and neath your fingernails a sterile caress, through a glove before they tear you from yourself bit from bit try to reconcile the pieces and failing mourn your loss. what you needed was a friend something gentle with edges fading into space undefined and unthinkable because you can't think you can't you mustn't your legs may move but your mou...

please, let my mindscape be a Salvador Dali painting. let my thoughts drift surreal and drip from corners leak from cracks sunbathe in moonlight til I can't find a way out. take me someplace where creaking giraffes pass - I touch their iron bellies from below. legs crack and bellow, then breaking rain black ants. where elephant trunks entwine cygnet necks: choking and praising veins burst and bloom. we bleed clear water. The Great Masturbator leers down, peering from Gala's eyes. pupils split...

break them off break the links of the chain break off pieces of my brittle self, hand them out on the street like fliers no one wants bits of a stranger, loveless but passionate yeah, that's a contradiction... so what are you gonna do? I'll tell you what I will. I'll follow you around, through cigarette smog and clean, clean pain. I'll haunt you like the paradoxical poeta en new york who never had children but he's still got me. I found him skewered on skylines, still bleeding from the birth ...

she's just too cute. you just wanna pinch her cheeks and pull em off, pull em off like silly putty, mold em into anything you want to be but can't. watch her shake her ass and spread her legs silvery and sequined she's dancing but you're not. you see her handcuffed and stained stained stained with fluids all over, she's been so so shamed and it's all your fault but the guilt won't come. now watch her spin until she pukes spin until she falls or maybe just fuckin dies and you can laugh cause s...