go west

and the sky heaved a sigh of relief
as your walking steps near
the door taking you
out into your new fantastic.

you head west, away from the sun,
which rises as you move.
and when the the occident nears,
you'll stop your motion and watch the
setting over water, which plays dog
with the shore catching each kiss
and relaying each slap.

when my set moves, as your sets
will continue to move with instability,
i will go to you.

i crave you.

just like i gave you
my word
that i wouldn't call you
at three a.m.
hoping that you would
in a sleep-induced stupor
take back all those cruel things

that you never said.

why did we marry in the first place?
when we could have had brand-new red lights
full of flight and fury and sound and wind
with none of these burdens and children

and blowing leaves all scattered through our brightness.

your pen of doom hovers over our joint checking account.
you type our expenses into loving spreadsheets detailing our rendezvous
not in paris, nor portugal.

how did we get to this place?
where the snow crackles beneath my slim fingers with too loose
ring edging slowly off.
where light only seeps into the edges of our days.

photosynthesis

created for a women's studies assignment: create a new translation of sappho's "poem of jealousy" based on 28 previous translations by more important poets than me.


tremble, tremble, leaf-me;
shake loose of limb overlooking
pale grass which crunches and
yields under feet of beloved she.

he, holding her precious hand,
knows more of fortune than many
who aspire to wisdom of gods'.
and i wither from where i stand.

my tongue, once lithe and able,
resembles a clod of dirt, stuffed in mouth.
my eyes, which have looked upon the
brightest of triumphs, see only in sable.

as she passes, arm linked and gaze turned,
my mind blinks and my attempt for light is spurned.

on bookmarks, etc.

though my crayon topples your marker and greases
over the even, magic slide
you yet still have the other marker
maintaining our divide.

pages twist and unfurl around this
diligent character who minds
where we have left off:
what stanza, paragraph, or lines.

gracing the holographic, reflective
sheen of our divisive trial
there lies a face who portrait
reflects back our own, only style.

with frayed edge peeking over the top
of a book or anthology or film,
our bookmark guides where none else tries
though we are boats, with no one at the helm.

pounding deep into sonorous radar communication,
your heart breaks out of its once-sturdy shell
to begin the transformation.

first, it grows from mere muscle and organ
into a tall body, lean and lank with only sparse
gems to indicate eyes and smile and brain.

each jewel, barely hovering at the boiling surface,
seeks to embed itself deep into the flesh forming,
but gravity and my desire postpone.

while the diamonds and rubies of your glowing eyes
and lips try to escape their hard and fastness,
your still-dripping hands
curve their winding way
through amniosis and into membrane
which gives way to fresh, clear, though smoky air.

though birth has completed, your limbs remain too soft
for my grasp and, each time i reach, you slip from me
into the soft folds from which you emerged.

in looking back, remembering only,
i have cast you back to the deep, dark folds
where dogs and men may play and frollick, but you
will only pine.

self-restraint

as your hair weighs down, feathery and floating,
across your back with brilliant bright bones,
i will lay my hand across your birdsoul's infinite
sweetness and hold your spirit while you undress.

with your bright rings glittering in both brightness
and dark and your shining, glorious choir of breath
rasping across my bones which glaze over at its touch,
i will see your resplendence.

in the dim air of our conquest, your hand will alight
and take to the air above my head to trace out shapes
and delights the likes of which i will never see again,
nor remember from now.

with musical flight, you leap from our nest to fall to
the street and, in picking yourself to rightness,
you realize all our bright, unhidden sin
and leave our song and flying to wither in the wardrobe alongside
dusty albums and the maps of europe, spring, and time.

inspired by lessig

vocal cords lost
but still whipping your face
which slides across my mind even
as i am lashing it.

your content is lost
as i shape your fate
and toss your creative enzymes out of
our stomach of production
and your means reaches no end.
with no end in site.

in sight we have this marvelous
creature called vision
which rumbles through our collective
brains and leases and unleashes itself
into our collaborative process
in order to concretize our eyes.

in seeing we are reading
and in reading, reading only,
and only of that which is written,
not in writing.
this process breaks our minds and souls
and sharpens our wits while deadening our nerves.

as i am seeing
you are breaking
jaw around the eye

as i am seeing
you are dancing
jaw around the mouth

i watch while you spin
your wicked tales of silk
- if silk -
they are shimmery and shining and
brilliant hued with colors my
imagination bends only to see

translation

quando io vado a piedi, non lascio impronte
le neve rigano attaverso il ghiacco sono lasciati
linee perfetto e dune in 2-D

quando corro, vedo il mio respiro
aria fantasma spuzza fuori e su
piume in casi simili i fonsoli in il collo
dal parlamento morto lungho

guess what's it's from!

limit light

my limit is found
though limitless i may be

an army gashes my front door
though they are enemy

this limited military might
might light my sight
with arrows of night
and i may find, tomorrow,
gone all my way just to lose
that which i never might have owned
had they been only gentle
kind, sympathetic to my night-plight.

while the notes rollick on
and i stay sterile
- encased in fabric both hard
and crisp to my touch which is
smooth: smooth like the child i may
never
have.

this sterility, forced,
on by force. my force?
my force?

this thick plastic tears at my eating
soul which devours all my tears,
but leaves only dust and alcohol swabs
that clean the womb which is already
both foul and clean.

recipe

mix in milk and some cinnamon
fold in bed sheets lacquered in sweat
pour into the mold and
let sit for three years.

when finally it's come to frui(t)
-ion, caesura the ties, grease the lines
soften the raining blows
out the candle

when your alphabet cake
quakes
then you know you've read the recipe

the office

god, her smile's bright. i wish it had a dimmer switch -- nothing more obnoxious than a woman who can't keep her invisaligned teeth, crescent lips, exotic tongue in check and respect the misery of others. i watch her as she crosses the floor -- perfect ass swaying as she steps left, right, left, right; a perfect military cadence of heartbeat mixed with nonchalant steps unknowingly carrying her further from me at my desk, deeper into my heaving, sweaty, needy brain.
she returns from the copier to glance briefly at my shaking hands hovering over a keyboard that i sometimes caress as i might her breasts. she passes me without really seeing and i follow her with my eyes, vision loping after her like a lion after a fat antelope.

over there are so many ways
to correct and correlate and can

you feel what words have not(can)
convey ?

when your necklace catches my hair
and my necktie slides between your breasts
and we are tangled in uniquely-tying situation
can you still feel what words?

your orange shaped heart tickles in my chest
while your heart shaped face crinkles
with laughing at me

i could never fathom your depths
though i drag the bottom through

rigid heat curls
at my feet
tape binds my chest
and sweat binds all the rest
my feet fly over frozen ground
i find what once i'd sought to lose

i always seek what i've already found

your tread announces your presence
-i can feel what you might call fear
but it is only that you are too near
to know what actually i know
because you know toomuch

you already have what you learn

her breath hangs sweetly next to mine
churning mistspirals lap across our
bare faces hands and eyes
communication rots our silence
and she spirals along with her mist
out of mineour lives

she already(always) takes what she has

wheat breath fogs my glasses
made you bread
and you punish.

your hand in mine and
i made you bread
and you call it dry while i
am slowly drying.

while i lie, you lie, we lay
down in breadsoft linens
crusty oats flaking out of our teeth
which chew and snap and grind.

fact: shouting and clapping both
ruin bread.

summer brain, winter brain

my summer brain is slumbering.
i cannot picture warm suns and hot days.
only the swift pitching of the choppy waters and
too quick progression linger with me.

my autumn brain is boring.
i only watch the leaves pitching differently
down and dwindling, instead,
the motivated craze of ocean.

winter brain beckons.
sweaters to snuggle into and i cannot
picture anything unpleasant.
only the warmth of tea and fog-breath.

looking back, i'll foolishly cry
-i wished for winter.
when all i ever ask is summer.

sky is crying
damp traces of today
streaks clouding my vision.
my own heat fogs the
lenses as i
peel them back
to reveal a blurred
clarity all my own.

sky is clearing
but my vision still blurred.
i promise, knowing i won't,
and that doctor will never hold me
down in that chair, vinyl cutting harsh
into my back.

sky cleared, vision cleared, finger tarnished
and the blur is retreated to the fringes.
my phone rings - purr in the too-tight
back pocket -
the polish needed
and received.
and answered call chases all my qualms.

hiatus

during the summer months i traditionally take a brain vacation. so, until further notice, consider all fiction submissions postponed until the heat leaves and allows back my brain. enjoy the summer!

birthday music

the motor churning beside his ear, Robin melded the beats of the escalator to the soulful wail of his own music. every commuter's shuffle added another note or harmony to enhance the simple tune.
incorporating cacaphony had made Robin a wealthy man playing at both colleges and concert halls, but it was this subway dwelling, strings quivering to the screech of poorly lubricated tracks, that spoke to his soul.

boston visit

cloud fingers stretch over us massaging and soothing. billows of friendly, aged faces trace wisps behind - each streak reminds us of einstein and air pollution. tiny size pretzels absorb our anxiety and we begin to relax, just as we begin the descent.

haze still obscures the distances, but the roadways and parking lots stretch below anyway, innocent of our pleading thoughts.

a 23.000 foot roller coaster - the drop is tremendous.