Carnations

remember that night
you gave me flowers?
the yellow carnations.
i keep them
in an empty bottle,
of sparkling
apple cider,
we drank together
one rainy evening,
waiting for something.
i can't remember anymore.
they are
dried now,
but still fragrant.

Yes.

Alarm clock goes off.
More sleep?
No. You need to get up.
Force.
Eat breakfast.
More coffee please.
No. You don't have time.
Force.
Sit in class.
Please explain again I don't under--
No. We must move on.
Force.
Stale practice room.
So tired can't I nap?
No. You are not good enough.
Force.
More work, paper scribbles.
Can't I have dinner?
No. You must get this finished.
Early morning hours.
I have to sleep now, please.
No. Work harder.
Force.
Climb into bed die.
Yawn.
Do you love me?
Yes.

So Funny

she laughs
oh it was so funny
the way he looked me in
the eye
and said he didn't
care
the way we
screamed
at each other
she chuckles
so hilarious
being the other
woman
sex is so
funny
don't you think?

Practice Room

you know when you were a kid
you'd sometimes find giant
cardboard boxes
play in them for days until they were
crumpled torn soggy
but to you it would always be your
secret hideaway
a place where silence was only a
friendly voice
smiling sweetly in between the notes
of the little song you sang
under your breath
as you crayoned the walls

im standing in a crumpled torn soggy
practice room
peeling flakes of god knows what
some construction material from the
'70s
i think the piano might be moldy
but to me it is a secret hideaway
a place where silence is a
familiar face
nodding its head in affirmation
between the notes i play
from my heart
as i color the world

nuance

im a goddess
covered in bug bites
im a greek statue
chisled by scars
i have golden tresses
and weird lumps on my head
i have smooth silk skin
and hairy legs
my hips sway softly
my feet sometimes stink
nuance is perfection
light is just heat

Baptism

a very strange baptism indeed
which left blood streaks on
the wall
dipped my head
fathersonholyshit
in the concrete
until all my
skins
be washed away
sealed as a child of
gravel bits stuck in my
head scraped raw like
crucifix scabs
a very strange baptism indeed

electric storm

electric storm
sky kiss
artillery pulses
from cloud hearts
gentle rain
sky caress
slow vein melt
from cloud hearts

No Time for Heartbreak

I have no time for heartbreak,
No time to softly
Contemplate
The friendly folds
Of a handkerchief,
Wrinkled in all the right
Places,
To look just like
Your eyes,
When you laugh.
No time to drive,
Nowhere,
In the rain,
Just to see
The wipers work,
Like metal eyelashes,
Callously sweeping away
The sky's sorrow.
No time for heartbreak.
No time to love anew.

i thank god

i thank god
that when you came back
the room was dark
i felt your hair
it was straighter
smoother
shorter
i heard your voice
barely reaching me
in the din
i smelled you clothes
the scent i never
forgot
but i thank god
above
i did not have to see
your face
which in daylight
once bore
a thousand holes
into my mind

Ironic

Ironic,
Isn't it--
We were in the kitchen,
Such hearth to warm
This pounding mass of love,
With a little bit of
Garam masala,
When hot oil,
And metal spoon,
Fed my hand
A searing bite.

The welts began to form,
Even as I ran to the sink.
You stood helpless by.
The music played on.

Later that night,
Again, so ironic,
We left the aromatic
Kitchen,
For the
Black room of
Silver screens,
A glistening web,
Fresh of Hollywood dew,
For our illusory
Pleasure.

You sat
To my left,
My right hand
Cradled in
Ice.
He came in late,
As usual,
And took his seat by you,
Took his place by you,
Took my place from you,
Feeding me,
Again,
A spoonful
Of hot oil.

The Russian

cigarette smoke

and cat hair

soviet posters

a few armchairs

left from explorers old

the russian smiles

at me

beard like black

lace

a nose that could hook

a trout

he shakes my hand

and smudges his 

ashtray

a little more

what can i do for you?

Curry

he says,

you know,

i love you all the time,

but i don't have to say it

right before i order

my curry.

it's morally

irrelevant.

the moral 

relevance 

of curry,

then,

must be the 

spice of life.

perhaps i shall tell him

i love him

before i order

noodles.

Our Very Breath

the air sweats and cries
no need for rainclouds
our very breath
gives life to water
the moisture smoothing
the flood stirring
the river running through

Full Moon

Silver marble skin

Chisled by shadows

Smoothed by love

In the light 

Of the full moon

Grass in dewey glisten

Lovers' breath 

Into silver drops

In the light

Of the full moon

Sweat appeased

Passions fulfilled

Quiet sighs and stars' caresses

In the light

Of the full moon

The Drive

this is what it looks like

when a person is so angry

that they can no longer listen

a flower picked

by the side of the road

car dissheveled

doors swinging

fumes still sighing

from enflamed pipes

miles away from

home

broken cement playing

shadow checkers

with the soupy sun

clock in the dashboard

slowly chipping away

the fury

as tear by tear

petal by petal

all the angry love

falls to the feet

of roadside weeds

La Mar

Some fishermen in Cuba
Call the ocean
La mar.
They say others call her
El mar,
But those who do are
Young and foolish,
And do not
Know
What it means to be
Conquered,
And at peace.

Those who are wise,
They say,
Know that she takes,
And she gives.
That when she is wild,
And cruel,
It is because she could never be
Otherwise,
That when she is willful,
And calm,
It is because she could never live
Another way.

Those who know this,
They say,
Can see how the moon
Affects her,
Like a woman,
And yet how humbled
Are those
Who are bathed in her
Presence.

Of Bark and Bone

i am wary of your body.
sharp knees the elbows
a branch whipping out,
trunk so guarded
by sinewed limbs,
your hands the thorny twigs
the angles uncompromising.
yet within your ribcage,
between the stubborn strips
of bark and bone,
is a little bird's nest,
nestled, in a
hollow knot.

Take Two

sometimes i make mistakes.
i linger past
the end scene.
i vary from the script,
mixing words and intent
oil and water
on a wound.
sometimes i don't speak
at all,
but simply wait,
cameras flashing,
blindly
looking into the lenses,
as if they would be
like your eyes,
glazed with mercy,
blinking with love.

Five Years' Time

In five years' time,
You may not say my name,
Nor hold its sound,
Sweet between your lips.
In five years' time,
Your hands may fold,
In silent prayer,
Around another woman's
Lovelined palm.
But today,
You are here,
And your eyes, like two
Doves,
Send me sweet lines
Of peace,
The name of God,
As the breath before
A kiss.

In the Night

magic i want to make with you
all the ticks of my watch
i want to chip away
in your presence
are all for naught
for in the night
you slink away
pacing in the kitchen
glass of milk in your hand
hour glass thuds of sand
in your head

Sunflower Sentinels

Sunflower sentinels,
Which stood so tall
Over summer bounty,
Now droop,
Seeds falling
From their bronzed heads.
No longer need at their posts,
They wane.
Yet let them
Fear not:
The fruit they so
Carefully guarded
During summer's
Young-blooded haze
Will last the winter,
And in the spring,
New shoots will
Sprout, kicking and
Screaming fresh life
For them to tend,
Their helios manes
Proud and swaying.

November Thunder

november thunder
exhaling warm air
into frosted clouds
one last
blood-filled kick
before the pallid
silence
in the gathering dark
the sky reached down
and stole a
street lamp
to be its
moon

Red Fleece Jacket

sometimes your shoulder
is the only thing
holding up my head
wet in little tear-shaped spots
your red fleece jacket is as
warm to me
as your sweaty palms
soft and strong
holding me
so close