hum

what is the difference between
        the feeling of fear and the feeling of love
I am made so much of both
in the figure cut out and the paper left over
I hope one day to stop tweeting
        because I can feed you straight
        all these things I’m thinking
I used to sit in class
daydream
        telling him each fractured moment
        of my earthly life
as though with more of me
I’d draw him out
        to dry his rotting flesh in sun
my mother used to call me an earwig
burrowed up inside your warmth
body losing muscle and bone
    the architecture of your standing weight
when I think of you
    every day
            arms slide closed and your shoulder
    and my head
    and your hand
    and your tightening limbs
    and your patient heart
    how asleep and still and
        there and
        all but gone
we seem to be

(16.08.31)

purring

your bone chest
slats under skin that loop
my arm around your waist
hand flat
breaking like tide
on sternum

I imagine
pressing through your skin
orifice
sinking through flesh atoms
blood atoms
inside you
gooey
purring
fevered warm

I imagine
curling, a fetal ball
in liquid beat heart
silver rush veins
scaling
rungs of your ribs
ripped by
white lung hurricanes

I imagine
pattering
settling, hot
in your yellow-gold
orbiting
soul

rabid kitten thin
your gaze like rain
pouring down the inside
of my skin
hand uncurling
flat against sternum
pressing through
your skin

(16.09.06)

Write You

Do you know what it’s like
to be compulsively written?
Your parameters take shape
smoothed stone in my hand
alive and unencumbered, still and solid
in my hand

Muse!
You said you
don’t know what it is
to write
This: so fragile a sentence
your most
This: force behind words my own
Fear, this; how does a body
find its own beginning
without calligraphic lines
around its edge?

I want
to read you
Contact language with self
spelled in your hand-drawn characters
Do you know what it’s like
to be read?

(16.02.26)

pure and silent

if we’re lust
he’s ice cube fire
soft skin
on soft skin
rigid bones
that fold so careful
if we’re sadness
he’s stalactite cave
where hollow echoes
obscure the day

if we’re contemplation
he’s footsteps in
crest-fallen snow
before the day
has its beginning
and if we’re music
he’s tapping the beat
muffled in a rug
an amp is screeching
his voice and all his static

pure and silent

if we’re lust
I’m dreamtime
murky heat haze
sweat
stifled dark
if we’re sadness
I’m blood on water
surface of a rock pool
numb
where
thin wind whistles

if we’re contemplation
I’m neon light
in movies only seen when
we’re lost
and tired and found and
far away
if we’re music
I’m murmuring poetry
to no one
undercurrent to a
crowded room

pure and silent

(16.02.25)

mentha

wish there were breach
crack of bark from solid branch
to steal you from sober
to milk pool, still as styx
soft as archer’s branch-bow
sinking in, to sweet conversation
bathing mind melodies with cat’s eyes
softening blows
in each other’s muffled warmth

wish there were cloak
cool breath of peppermint
to silver-shield you from drunk
so your dance, slippery limbs
words like chest and arms, offering
were pure and hung deep
spanning mysteries with focused eyes
books and tales and childhood
around me, bleeding warmth

(16.08.30)

creature

cast into
seas where the light never touches
the surface unbroken by these
fish tendrils, these gaping mouths
of brainless beasts
such clever adaptations
Poseidon must be on their side

because
my gender is all the in betweens
fish tails trickling to flesh, to breasts
a dragon grown from writhing snake
a fallen angel
cast down like a handful of sand
what is this?
daring to be
both of two worlds?
my gender is a prism
ripped from creatures imaginary

my gender is the way
silk fabric falls on skin
is first time bursts of sound
from Sigur Ros and cymbal song
words that hover in air
my gender is twelve canvases strewn
with poured coats of fire blue
cold blood in my throat when I run
and the fire-haired god
who heats my page
when I long to turn myself to dust

I am Deadalus
arranging feathers in wax
sewing wings to my arms
willing into being the far-fetched fantastic
and I am Icarus
both flown and felled

now, I am sunk in the sea
entangled in shipwrecks, fish scales, and lore
I’m limbo
perhaps there’s no place for me
I’ll straddle this world as a whole
down, where the light won’t travel
I’m here

(15.08.26)