Thursday, December 24, 2015
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Monday, December 21, 2015
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Friday, June 12, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Monday, June 1, 2015
Monday, April 27, 2015
how to unearth a fossil in a hotbed: that time of the cow's rib, the saber tooth,
the mandible: one bone every two to ten minutes: the luck
the sorrowful bees, the honey that oozed like molasses (from the troubled hive
Friday, April 24, 2015
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Your roads --the curves of women linked together, uncovered we discovered beautiful : hipped and bedrocked-- jurassic slabs of slate. Your cabin's music playing, and fire when we entered, entered where she said yes, I slipped old stones on her finger. Where bears still sleeping, where still illegal for us to marry, you should know you were apart of the story: story where two women become lovers again and again, in the woods, on a hill, in a state where this kind of love is dangerous, not unlike all love. Where we ate at the Old Mill, meat covered in stone ground corn and fried, we tasted you and left the morning before the snow and ice. We slept on the finest pillows, swallowed from our tongues wine and juice and with dog as witness, made a promise to each other. We drifted through dark chambers of blue, watched jellyfish through glass umbrella into red, and sharks glided over head. We drove through smoky mountains--their blue aura, their snowy tops and slippery rocks where the cold bit our necks for each photo-op. We were high, we were in clouds, in love and looking out at the curve of the world.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Friday, January 16, 2015
she has three inputs: vagina, mouth and anus.
Blood makes her human but he treats her like she's spinning
on gears, tucks her in the closet when not in use. When he gets
home from the office, he pushes mute so the only sound
besides clink of knife through steak are her lips smacking.
There must have been a time it hurt to be silenced-- a cat clawing inside her
but that was ions ago--that part of her cauterized for survival.
The remote controlled woman is programmed
to do anything hubby wants. In bed, he puts her on pause
so she wont remember anything, will hold the desired position.
Her body is like any humans-- it responds, secretes where
and when it should but her eyes on pause gloss over--
frozen-faced he sometimes misses having alive eyes
to look into as he cums. This makes him push into
her harder and faster. When it's over he hits play
and she takes a freesia-garden shower. He listens
to the sound of the water and thinks of his mother.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
It's come to this. Some of us are so poor we cant afford proper weapons-- search along highways for the tossed-outs: plastic bags for suffocation; doggy bag to crumple inside a tailpipe; shard of glass to slice the femoral; deer femur for a blow to head. The smart ones wait for winter to come, wait for the icicle—sleek, beautiful, ticking for expedient murder. We wait because we're human after all-- we cause meltdown-- our machine selves emit warm, pulsing heat and destroy.
Though pulsing we don’t feel so alive. We float along and cant stop staring at the goddamn light. They're talking and all we hear are their lips opening and closing like a garage door. Is this how an icicle feels-- heartless self sucking a rock-nipple for its life-- birds, cars roar by when the sun's in full rise, bits drip away from a distant appendage, feeling nothing as we drop-by-ticking-drop age, glisten into nothing. Even the moon can not save us.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Sparrow and weed, snake glides without worry--