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even in my dreams
trickster gods are the best fucks
rabbit kicks the moon
10 Friday Apr 2015
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even in my dreams
trickster gods are the best fucks
rabbit kicks the moon
10 Friday Apr 2015
“Kafé, kasita non kafela et publia filii omnibus suis” — an invocation to allow one to enter someone’s dreams.
Dreams are coming to
the heel just outside,
the shadow in my sly-boot
box says so. This, too, is
a love poem and like all
brief solutions is already
fading. Meanwhile go
nowhere, do nothing.
Every motion wasted.
Finger this hole. On my
lips a sticky residue: jizz,
junk, slicked back hair.
Fleshpot vespers. Spooky
bird. I will enter your dream.
10 Friday Apr 2015
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Doc Martins, dry ice, gurgle, mohawks, one who crackles, pale like bone, poem, sonnet, witch
Right at the down stroke, with all your weight thrown
behind the blade, my arms raised to avert
the stroke, there’s a quick blur, pale like bone,
from two small fists, and the front of your shirt
(awkward) implodes. “Witch!” you gurgle; the way
schoolyard bullies splutter when at last laid
low. We love our movies about gun-play
but the thought that a girl could dodge a blade
or punch a hole through ribs is called bollocks.
Physics baffles us. My rain-reddened fists
unflex. I exhale, luster, turn elsewhere.
I tell you of Doc Martins and mohawks –
– of a dim slip-of-a-thing with thin wrists;
one who crackles, like dry-ice in the air.
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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Please be patient. Passions are being answered in the order in which they were received.
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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Origami witchcraft, the trick is in the folds. Crease well.
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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quote unquote, The Imperial Japanese Submarine Handbook, Trust no demonic being under any circumstances
A smile of friendship is a baring of the teeth. So is a snarl of menace. It can be fatal to mistake the latter for the former. Trust no demonic being under any circumstances.
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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Have at thee, villain!
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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a darkness and a gleam,/ and the blurred reflections of the willows on the opposite bank
received it.
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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and if the earthly no longer knows your name,
whisper to the silent earth: I’m flowing
to the flashing water say: I am.
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Sonnets to
Orpheus, II, 29
(translated by Stephen Mitchell)
09 Thursday Apr 2015
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screaming to god for death by drowning –/ one salt taste of the sea once more …