Lydia & Absinthe

the evacuees, transports to Dachau
or Auschwitz understood minimalism

and despair.

They understood it short, but well—that
each absinthe convoy could mimic a covert:

When we exchange crucifixes, we exhange fates.

No Kansas farm-girl, corn-fed,
ill-bred, no Muslim covert

infected with love and longing could
follow this trajectry
until blind-sided until

the road insisted:

enough.

the dead girl and her traitor

oh, he crawled intoxicated by rose-cunt scent
and curls that tumbled blondly

and yet
at that turnstile moment
of do or die,
pass or stall

he left

a cowardly fox unrepentant.

Woe be the woman
who loves the coward, the civil servant,
the braggart and the moral infant.

the dead girl and her lover

beside himself he comes
inside her self no longer
for she has been duly
boxed inside an earthworm home

for now and furthermore.

ejaculate
mists the cold hard earth
her lips might curve

but in revulsion or mirth?

Umbrella Land

they can be
long stem roses,
unopened

untried and not yet tested,
dry fabric ripe for free-fall or parachute dress

allow me to descend
to mushroom land

my toes are springy and pink
and my will to explore
is as grand
as parchment under ink.

Diary Of A Transgendered Geisha

my ornaments fulfill
a cocoon silk box
of baubles and presentiments:

let the future
offer an earthquake

that blasts us all to Kingdom Come.

Oh, forgive me,
I employ the wrong cultural idiom.

As a time traveller,
my geography
is shot
full of holes

like the building you entered and wrongly
called home.

any old foes at war or play

seaglass impresses itself upon water:
I was the lighthouse keeper's daughter
until I was no longer.


This woman who presses silk and skin,
her lips strain in a sneer

and her rancid cunt is her veneer.

 

unchartered heart

I carry an alien heart
through unchartered waters

Terra Incognita
and I was born wrong

in continent and song

my colours display
a range of fear of rage

my darling, why
did you betray

a millennium of heroes and maidens
waiting, simply waiting

for their long-lost day?

oh, oh, oh, you errant number

generic
as a fish tail

you swish and slap

the designer tank, yet you are lost

in revision, edition, your good strong fins
shall surely save you,

but I cannot vouch
for the next generation.

Lisa

I have tried to save you,
Code Steinberg-Nussbaum

Cocaine, S&M 101.

The woman,
flat-voiced has reclaimed
a human form.

Holding wonder in a cup,
her tea & sympathy is rank and malformed.

Lisa,
your cream-blush
heart-shaped face
has worn a hole

into my soul. In a twilight
shift of love and thought

we perch together on a velvet bough,

admiring a rosegold sunset
and the force of why and how.

You were My Narnia (Death Rattle of the Frozen Heart)

frost-locked lips
kept a January promise

my lion-hearted assassin.

in one hand, you offered Turkish Delight,
Lokum filled with pistachio folly.

in the other—
a heart-shaped cookie cutter

that you pressed into my breast
until I bled and wept

until all that was left
leapt and shuddered.

The Ecstasy Of Veronique Rough

perhaps I should say
harmony or torment

these extremes are all the same
in effect and intent

my enraptured marionnette

With strings attached,
all gifts are sent, arrive

upon a pale blond doorstep

only there are no cover
stairs, just bullet holes

where homes once dwelt.

the wolf-child you carry in your feral heart

in dreams,
doors refuse to latch
because life leaves
us spread-eagled,

in timeless disgrace.

I hunt a civilized heart.
When it one day refuses to pump

I will slump
against broken locks and rabid bolts.

feral child with hot blood
in a goblet, racing fierce
upon four unequal legs,

nothing is fair,
and my pale ferocity

will be shepherded into blond  pastures
long after I am hidden elsewhere.

your stunted heart

dwarfed—it pumps
buckets of rosy ice

and a tongue that refuses
to rise, like a flag

struck limp,

your love is minimalist.

no time to protest

under the watchful eyes
of two full moons

you brace your selves
to die

none too soon.

tonight, my lover,
the condors are hungry


and your cooling flesh
satisfies.

length and leisure

your hair allures
it has all the time in the world

castaway doubts,
bouts with yellow fever and revolt

why do some creatures always appear
to be growing?

mermaid lie

what better way to say good-bye
than with a fishy alibi