seasons

Summers end approaches
and I am suffused by thoughts of longer nights
as faint tastes of Autumn mock the seriousness of his sun.
Winter is unknown
sleeping dead as the crone in the Earth, but still
I am reminded of four months from now
when morning gathers a chill around her
caking frost on all the flowers.
It is Spring who defies the doldrum cold
and in the months which follow and proceed her demise
I imagine myself making love against her soft belly
against the new growth bursting forth
from the Earth's reanimated corpse.
I will be possessed in the petals of a dream
an endless honey cream pouring hotly from me
a white bubbling stream
entering rapidly into the sea.

Dove

She sweeps through

this sweet muslim

practically ivory skin powdered

and from the side

I see past black lens

delicate painted eyes

saved for ala and both fathers.

Hair pinned and pinned and pinned

and after all hidden under soft silks

and avoiding guiles

I feel I know her otherwise as a dove

she never gives more than enough

a smirk hardly finding its way to a smile

saved like all honest things

for a vague and antiquated everlastingness.

I will remain young

I will remain young, white, full of love
tied up by ribbons in brown bound curls
drinking wine and come
green tea soaked through with thick fresh honey
and honeycombs pressed between teeth humming like bees
laughter will live happily in my lungs
and hearing great music I will sing
heart swelling up with christs blood
I will bathe myself in spirits
and bathe myself in love
sharing thoughts with the living and the dead
eternity wakened in my head
I will find the end
when I see life removed from suffering.

diving into tide pools

There are times
when I think
that I'm holding my breathe
mistakes
I plainly name them
a word that does nothing
to explain why my chest falls
so still

and I stretch and stretch and stretch
trying to burn something
into the blanks
which quietly engulf
like all those little tide pools
found at the right beach

my body is a secret creature
full of strangers
shaking hands
they leave my mouth
hanging on my face
like a wax clown
all the teeth protruding falsely
and the lips done wrong
grotesque smiles
plastic girl
with an led light
glowing behind her eyes

and I dance and dance and dance
cut through the air
like a pair of wings
carrying a snake
anything to reanimate
this corpselike state
plastic girl with the wax face
blank
the body is all hollow
prepared and stamped worthy
of being seen
in the coffin

they say she is as beautiful as ever
and never wonder
where all the blood went
and what about the organs
is someone else walking around
with a heart
that pretends to beat

I examine my bruises
hope to slip
stub a toe
accidents that have never happened
reenact themselves
in my mind
so perhaps
there is something
behind my
wreck provoking
recklessness
slice a finger on an oily knife
at the least
onions will make me cry
lift things too heavy
hoping my muscles will rupture
and recoil
like the thin rusty metal
inside an old measuring device

there are times
when I think
that the answers must not be intrinsic

just before I remember
that I am smart
enough
to know
that I am the only person
who can fix this
plastic
fill this body
with something like blood
but sweeter
like the juice that runs
off of every happy experience
and wax melts
to be remolded.