Gaia, Gorged

Enitharmon, Urizen.
Cells
that remain deliberately
suspended
over ash – heads,
humanity;
they beckon like nothing
else, final heirs
of a deflated
third stone from the cold.

Still Around

Somewhere Hinterland
far away playground,
deluge or defend
spring and fontanelle:

accepted degrees,
expected aversion,
grafting frowns
like crafting days.

Somewhere Someland
far away slyground,
new rules of thumb or
mistakes, suspected:

still keeps together
Labello, balm breath,
both slide better than
lipstick in the long run.

Family '89

I pull you aside,
a passer-by
off a crowd and:
let's make family.

Two hundred Euro
cluttering pans
in our shared sink,
a veritable valley.

I'm just kidding,
I'm just messing
around with you;
any chance I get.

Soon I can't look
at your frowns, without
wishing to be
behind your shoulder.

There sure are
instances when
masochism
serves its cause.

Delight

Cherry tree graveyard, we have
no less than a soul, doll
drone
repose
riposte,
interred down
how? – how many
fathoms dig down?

It does not wait for long
contradictory in none,
gassy mist column from a schoolgirl's frothy
mouth by the contradict bus stop
looking at you, there only for you
spreading black ice to you.

To parasite
a painting, or
paper or flower
arrangement or
something deliciously baked,
festering in 'till
your pancreas, sugary, comes.

October

Your stale scholarship
Grows tired mid- November;
You know no better.

Turn, theist space
uncontamiOCTOBER innated
pure ideal, modernisthe
materims
dominanically;
Nk skate – arta tabula, read
as: a blaasa, elationshian.
Inextricable, indignant context
minima forms, thinking med – the
phenobody, yours;
Laderartists, I propose painting
if we were to deeures activelyanisms, for
Whiteighting in mind.

Staarship Ged – Mid;
Nove tired Mcholarsh
Ys hip growr.

Old Man

Even in my basest instances of
perverted abstinence I must pity his
trite slant of impotence, the thrifty
glue all brothers and sisters are slave to.

The eye: the hand that bites
feeds and explores – in a
single digit, nails untrimmed,
the boring power of a depth drill: in
that single slant prototypes
are contained, an harrowing stretch of
paths to failure that his eye
comes in abundance, for within
that pulverizing crib sugar does not lack.

Zealous, even when dead on a living, his
crumpled hand shreds the innards of
his flannel's pockets, clawing at what
tonight he will dream of as my
thigh, whining in
contorted, humid pleasure
beside his sleeping wife.

Mizuka's Loop

Drops her gaze
Mizuka, violently indolent
holding tight a loop
between her legs and her mind's I
tense, demeaning and
ever scheming how
to be a star, or
at least, how to cut one down to her size.

In the glicine milk and honey of
her extremities, those she whispers to
at night – time, there: what
novel cross did she find?
Set on her weight like grave(l)stone
caressing the stove's black eyes
(her parents away) fixing dinner
for two, three counting her
accruing body strings of flame.

Mizuka's loop is both
loved and accursed, both
wonderful and wondering.
It approximate möbiuses
the mind and the mind's I.