the end

like sugar dissolving

the end of the story

interleave in an intricate yet
sometimes untidy weave

grief is a thing with feathers

patterns in the sand

an unjoining

sorrow fiddles the ribs

disappointment
dissatisfaction
disconnection
shock and
disgust

alienation
impotence
despair
degradation
shock and disgust

the end of the story
struggling to find a voice

Advertisements

reap the fruits

peach fuzz on my chin and
oh
it is so sweet
as sweet as i remember
french heat
child’s hands
white nectar
oh
the hands have grown but
oh
the juice
sunshine drops
trickling down fingers
sticky creases
the scent
a tongueful
lip stained
oh
suckle stone
liquid fur
oh
give me my fruit
again
my knuckles are pink with it
rosy with memory and
the day and
oh
the taste
will linger
but cannot finally
last

at the heart
of the flesh
is the stone

Hosts

I saw you give up the ghost
adventurous spirit dimmed to fade
can i climb inside
and breath fire on your lungs
you know i will
smoke filled ashen breaths
let lava pour from tongues
allow my licks of flame
alight the scorched earth
host of the air
host of the sea
take bread and wine and commune with me
confess
make room in barren pastures
break me
lift your hand
bless me
breathe into my spirit
regain ghostly vapours in your throat
inhale, let me in

Serenata

By the river banks
the night is wetting itself
and on Lolita’s breasts
the branches die of love.

The branches die of love.

The naked night sings
over the March bridgeheads.
Lolita washes her body
with brine and tuberoses.

The branches die of love.

The night of aniseed and silver
shines on the rooftops.
Silver of streams and mirrors.
Aniseed of your white thighs.

The branches die of love.

Serenata, Garcia Lorca