Friday, 31 August 2012

bumble-girl

whirred in a thrum of seamstress
workdom, your hair snags,
zipped disarray
and a bumble-hum
of dervish love.

Blue Moon Reunion


shunned raven
tastes crow on tongue,
like the blue-born,
some branches
are too thick
to call home.

quaint notion

you dwell deep
inside a memory box—
one part tulip, two parts hoax.

Wednesday, 29 August 2012

Suggestive

Oh! seductive entrance dress,
you are not as open as I had hoped.

Is my skin too pale or perhaps
my religion is is not right.

Must I convert or be forever locked out?

Angelique



Myopia casts a shimmer
over ghost girls and sinners.
Angelique, your steps
are tormented stage whispers.

Seven


in your colour-slotted sin,
you are dwarfed by Evil,
entirely opaque and shifting in shape.

who ever remembers the seventh?

Tuesday, 28 August 2012

Allo, Princess

your pale dance mother,
blanched as an almond,
forgotten in a bowl

beckons You, her
redemptive daughter,
full-moon dance child

to comply
to the terms of an  atavastic
contract:

You bend, fold and shimmer
in a back-stage-lit distance
and pray

that all gaping holes
will be closed, stones healed,

sins forgiven.

His Rabid Heart

He was a casual
collector, letters C & H—
women—to him—were mere
holes to be invaded.

Monday, 27 August 2012

And In the End

there is no end, merely
infinite shapely interrogation points
and an onslaught of do's and dont's

Punctuation marks stuffed
into a horn of plenty,
Thanksgiving for that hypothetical second chance.

Call Me Hoshino

I grow attached
to a guide, reticent as a touchstone:
sometimes open, more often closed.

Natakaisms unfold,
abundant as origami gifts, so
delicately designed and flimsy
to hold.

strictly ornamental

silver will
outdistance gold,
for the moon is a mistress
with legends untold.


Saturday, 25 August 2012

Degraded Sublime

He

may not know who he is,
degrading me
in pink pornography.

I

may know who I am,
still beautiful
and almost alive,

I cajole his semen to thrive.



Just Be Yourself

sour scullery maid—
no one can be that for you.

decorative

and around her neck
red velvet to conceal
the memory of a lost head

or

to remind the living and the dead
that fashion knows no bounds
and that style always lapses.


headless war

Marie and Yvonne had gone
headless. Hence, they did not know
whose side each other was on.

Flying Lesson



just one
should do.
my feet tend
to sprout wings
especially when en pointe.

a simple lesson
with a spoon of absinthe
will surely shoot
me far from the mushrooming moon

within.

Thursday, 23 August 2012

Light and Battle

in flight you pause;
you understand your side:

light and honour.


I dip my pen
into a genetic pool:

deep and dark and tangled.

Assuming You

If everything is play
and decay, may I assume
that you will reform
your spartan ways?

Upstairs
was on the ground floor
and we crabbed our seneses
in—sideways.

Under The Influence

waiting like cats
for the second full moon,
we celebrate this,
we drink to that

whilst under the influence
of an enchanted fish tank.

Wednesday, 22 August 2012

Ghost Revival


I sit and shift the skeins
of memory, translucent
with a hint of powder

residue skinning
my books and lifetimes—
eclipsing you, always.

Pas De Deux

you shadow my words
or do I shadow yours
as we perform
our ghostly pas de deux?

The Queen Is Dead

again, this ecstasy
of force-feeding and mating

bully bees too devoted
to enact the rite of subtlety.

She is your everything
until a successor is secured.

The queen is dead;
long live the collective.

Tuesday, 21 August 2012

snap their heads off

each creature is attached
to its pattern. there is no magic;
there is only rule.

you open wide; I hide.
We perform how we must,
overriding jury's unending cry.

Monday, 20 August 2012

Abduction

Sometimes, dearest Taylor,
I get abducted by a team of demons

that chew ands chew upon my brain.

It hurts!

They take such tiny bites that one
has to wonder if damage has been done.

It has!

None the less

I have returned, a little lessened
and far less secure

but of this you can be sure

I continue
to love you




and—in another land

the seamstress crew
bend and sweat
creating tiny pearls of dew
upon their unborn dress.


cold case

such startling loneliness
to be left by oneself

in the blur
of endless turnstile,
we fail to comprehend
why the final iron bar
divides the living from the spent

Sunday, 19 August 2012

Random Anxiety Syndrome

you're hard-pressed
between the pages of Kafka and insomnolence.

An inquistioner's bulb
stalks you through the tunnels
of your lifework.

thumbnail booklets
waver like drunken butterflies.

the choice is yours: either stay or stay alive.
.

Saturday, 18 August 2012

hateful

her head bobbed
in every shop window
and she sang:

I am prettiest in London Town;
moreover, I am here.

in her papa's straw hat,
she did not look fat,
but her neck was the size
of a tree trunk

and besides,
she's snide knowing
I will never be young again.

The Eleventh Bandit

no whisperer, no tame evidence
could draw her away from her calling.
she was dispatched at 11:11.
the damage she unboxed
was irreparable.

good things arrive in dozens
and then we subtract one
for bloody measure.

Friday, 17 August 2012

Picnic In the Garden of No Return

wheelchairs everywhere—
a blonde runs up the hill,
handkerchief hem of fairie skirt
pure as a carnival lure.

a full-lipped widow
younger than yesterday's news
walks the gangplank of tears.

a bandit traveller
collects them all
in her quixotic chariot.

Joyce stammers:
what do we do now? I am afraid,
her falling- off- the- edge- of- the- world mantra
timidly stalled.

Thursday, 16 August 2012

Tosser

When you tossed me overboard,
I was a lettuce petticoat,
and my darling, I floated.

You decided
to be done with me,
but you never consulted
Lady Oracle.

My long strong limbs
swim back to shore.
My skin not as lovely
as it was before

you tossed me overboard.

Choose Me!

Let me
be the one
who swims in tandem.

Twin fishes,
we twitch after drowning
in legends.

My silver scales
and green fins
are sharp and shapely.

I can slice you
to the bone and gut
you with love.

Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Ushikawa

I grew almost fond
of the misshapen green moon,
but why did Ushikawa have to die?

Even his assassin was apologetic.

Whose shadow was he?

Perhaps this sacrifice made it possible
for Green Peas and the Maths tutor
to find each other.

It was a violent death
accompanied by the image
of a foreign family hounded
by a retarded dog.

swimming with you

I swam with you under
two crescent moons
and we greened
in pale symmetry.

Pearls slipped out
of a chrysalis mouth;
we ghostwrote water's future.

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

Coma


A voice in surplice hints I'm deeply hurt,
provisional, as rumored lack of blood.
My head is wrapped. I try but fail to blurt
a sound that says I have likelihood of breath.
My conscience barters for a cure.
I stare hard and angry for 20 years."Endure."

Scientology And The Maiden

when ever I visit your mother,
I bring pink tourmalines or mystic topaz.
I like to watch sparkle play with her eyes.

You need not remind me
of Power Of Attorney; two moons
cloud your vision and blight you.

You will win, but then
an earthquake of cult and cunt
will return to smite
your firstborn act of kindness—
which has not yet begun.

in lieu of two moons

in exchange for your notes on Tao,
I offered you my 1Q84 binoculars

I wanted only
to show you two moons

exactly as described by ghost writer.

Instead, a jest of God appeared
on my nightstand, and I recalled
the lesser Rachel, you know the one,
her foetus was none other
than a kind tumour.

uʍop ǝpısdn

I drove down with an Alice cake, fondant
unbreakably boxed

and an heirloom opal
about to be lost.

Between a marsh and a lake,
fallen trees and errant gulls
held the secrets
of carnival leaves.

Monday, 13 August 2012

Precarious

like a cat
attacking a flower pot,
I wait for our free-fall
to be unshoed.

Waiting For Palinurus

I lure him not
with a timeless sonnet,
but with his song
still haunting my ear.

Sunday, 12 August 2012

Lady In Absinthe

I stitched you seamless
from memory, a train track
spotted from a distant lore.

You emerged
from a tulle chrysalis,
and My Lady, how
you fretted and itched.

Noblesse Oblige


You were the prettiest—
the best dressed.
Who could refuse
your angel skin kiss,
your ballerina death?

This pause you have acquired,
has the markings of addiction.
That man,
the one who named you Anne, Catherine, Swan;
he has failed, as always, to materialize.

Saturday, 11 August 2012

Beautiful Mutants

your beautiful cemetery
thrums radio-active,
a far cry from your grandparents'
lonely bones at Dachau.

Choose me!

the cry of the prettiest one—
a poppy in June
waiting to be undone.

Lorelei Sunk

Lorelei, my
icon, hooked and sunk
in a filmy basin.

Lure to my father
as he sails 'round your island
singing his only lifelong song.

Improv at Villa Maria

what a curious venue,
whispered Alice to creature,
and to think that this stage
is constructed from water.

You never make sense,
burbed bloated Frog Prince,
fatally puffing
a cigarette.
And this is how it ends, perhaps
with a fiddle-dee-dee and another last chance.

Riddle Exit

one fine eve, 'tween an up and a down,
the process locks, and you are caged.

the particicles of your addled mind
collide. they hope to find an exit.

Surely worse could happen.
ask angels on fire and ghosts
sloshing through swamps.

you display the grilled gilt
of your European honour.

Friday, 10 August 2012

Let Me Be Your Schindler

Ark, List Or Ladder,
let me be your Schindler,
hard-drinking angel who makes
unkeepable promises

and then keeps them.
This, this, this
is all I know of love:

I must save you
from your family
and the disease which prescribes to claim you.

Thursday, 9 August 2012

no comment

the vile ones
stand on line

Mater was short of this, and besides. . .

dot
dot
dot

I cock a trigger so tense
just like refreshed ejaculate

Your mother is my virgin,
my saint, yet you prefer to let her rot.

so fucking be it.

Think of trunks, peanuts and elephants:
your treachery will not
be forgotten.

years later...

she has translated herself
into a neo hymn book brimming
with God's mutant creations.

fling far the highest held stone

when you quote from the Bible at large,
you never get it right. One distorted syllable
creates havoc, my love.

oral tradition is mere
broken telephone, a game
played so lightly
with fatal flaws.

I am searching for that perfect
word in any shape or texture
to describe a tongue flung far.

ripped from its swollen roots,
it flaps flat and sour.

Wednesday, 8 August 2012

more than a visitor

less than a guest,
you deftly pirouette
only to stop cold
shoulder with a host
of ghostly ballerinas
and indescribable debt.

chamber music

her room is empty
of music, shoes
swept somewhere unseen.

I touch her hand, the curve
of a little girl, a soft mouse
stroked still.

a coven of others,
neither purchased nor desired,
hovers

over her choked words.
The corridor is a gauntlet,
and the exit is lost.