cradlesong

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“telling lies/ well, that’s no surprise” — the Go-Gos

You want it like I do: burning monsters
surged in fevered swamps. Rising grabby grasp

into my valley red/ into Rapture’s
blood/ Fierce girl’s mouth/ I am every last gasp

you cum/ laughing/ perfected. What we do
is sin/ touch-and-go/ these ridiculous

elder things/ man-masks! how burdensome “you
are,”
how hard it is to breathe/ Lustrous

daughters/ make me your sister’s swamp/ wild wrong
beating/ Anger’s bone that violent flame-brute/

heh, my Mama’s joy, her anguished left hand
birthing until she cried this cradlesong/

this calm/ We are a muddy substitute/
a false boy-god’s brat/ childhood of sand.

strangelove

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“to the subtle air breathed/ by beings like us who walk this sphere,/ the change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres.” — Walt Whitman

Stand here; where dry sand becomes cold and wet.
Crouched in your confirmation dress. Feel this.

From the wave’s deep grave, from the endless threat
chafing and chained in those breakers, the bliss

of the drowned, the wild curl, spasm, panting —
do you get it? Tell me, can you explain

the force at work here? What do the living
understand? Long after your first blood stain

soaks through your knickers, long after the change,
what will save you, greedy virgin? Romance?

Take a lover, still the sea will surprise
you, grab you, consume you, fill you with strange

love. As if your human lungs stood a chance,
as the waves touch you, as they lick your thighs.

plastic and lecherous

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Nightmare, do not go. Stay. I’m curious
how you work. Your pieces parts. So much bronze

and steel, molded plastic and lecherous
flesh. You have war’s crude tongue, the Amazon’s

love of conquest. When you dance your long skirts
swirl up around your ass and your teeth peek

out; the teeth between your legs. And what squirts
forth when you get excited is unique

to all the body fluids that I’ve ever
licked up. Watch me go down on you now.

What’s so alien here? We both get wet
and moan, we both orgasm much harder

than what our sleeping bodies should allow.
Come, Nightmare, I don’t want to wake up yet.

miss thing

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I do not know how old you are, only
that the living bar their doors every night

against you. Once I asked you to show me
where you came from; a home made from starlight’s

fairy tales. You said Orion. Miss Thing.
Lovely, lovely Miss Thing. You’re their evil

that comes begging on two legs. When you sing
birds weep. Your tongue can encircle my whole skull.

When you press your six breasts against my chest
and your cool breath fills my lungs, I don’t care

what you are. Saint or devil, it’s the same.
They called us evil, but to me we’re blessed.

The truth that you taught me in this affair:
never apologize, never feel shame.

ether

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“That weren’t no D.J.
that was crazy cosmic jive”

— David Bowie, Starman.

][][

Every night I go into the ether,
outer filament, and call to the lost

children. I’m neither mother nor father,
no one’s sister. Still, they come, with star frost

in their hair, for the universe is sin,
a crumb of a thing. Like the abandoned

ones in their fairy tales, I take them in.
Dry their tears. But they’re not mine. The frightened

ones, damned, wretched, screaming without a sound.
None of you will ever be mine; though years

from now, when you’re old, you’ll recall with pain
all my kindness and how once you were found

you ran away, once I took all your fears.
You’re still not saved, star child, simply mundane.

baffle

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Living pheromones filled the air, something
mortal, Earth-like. It baffled her. Close by

she lay in the grass watching, observing,
as the man-thing’s blood-hard cock swung high.

As the woman-thing knelt down as if she
would dine on every inch: suck up veins;

swallow the great flood in her mouth; bury
him once more deep in her throat. What explains

humanness better than this? We do this
because we’re divine souls. Let the grownups

forget. Forget that we fuck to beget
rapture’s kiss. Forget even what a kiss

is. Sex confuses me; I raise myself up
and find that once more I am soaking wet.

noon’s high

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There once was a girl, much like you, only
less so. She fell from the sky. The sky fell

from her. They say that she was forged, that she
clanged and clanked as she walked. White static-hell

was her voice. An ambient engine purred
in her skull. When she kissed all the streetlights

of Prague would go mad. She was a queer bird,
as they say, an odd duck. She was twilight’s

gloaming. Sun’s rise. Noon’s high. She was— but wait.
That’s not what I want to tell you. She came

down to me, this Star child. This fairy tale
about hate. Because others always hate

the one thing that they can’t break, own or shame.
It’s what she is: lewd, alien, female.

rip

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My spine twists as I roll beneath your nails.
I’m so awkward, but you taste like Spirit.

I’ll roll you up, let you run through my veins
in a cab; if I could paint I’d paint smut,

I’d paint your future: two fingers deep in
until you grab my wrist and hiss: “not here.”

So you’re sixteen and deadlier than sin,
I just had to ask, tell me if it’s real;

as the radio says; as the boom box
commands. Everything I’ve said has been told

by far better souls than mine. I still drip
like blood, like snot, like love. When all the cocks

and cunts are revealed — like these center fold
gods — we the divine will say, “let it rip.”

onna bugeisha, my daughter [1]

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I.
Once, on a bright morning in the month of March, with branches of blooming cherry trees framing the world, Kumori, a girl of some fifteen-years, sat on a low gunmetal-gray wall, watching party after party of armed men, retainers, their robes showing the crests of a dozen different local lords, riding up to the castle of the recently widowed Lady Kobayashi.

“I would love to know,” the girl mused to herself, lazily waving a sprig of cherry blossoms in the warm air, “just what ill-wind blows those rough-looking bastards here.”

She wasn’t sure what a ‘rough-looking bastard’ actually was, but she had overheard the phrase used in the wine-house that her mother worked in and was dying to try it out. Sunshine, dappled by the swaying branches above her, dazzled her eyes. The girl frowned, staring up at the white wisps of clouds set against the deep blue silk of a sky.

“Or is this about the sacred pledge, I wonder, that my lady made concerning settling, once and for all, her quarrel with Lord Watanabe? Or could she be intending to sweep the woods clean?”

It was hard being only fifteen and having a mother who worked in a wine-house. Most of her friends were already engaged in the Lady’s service. Soon they would be married off to the sons of local lords who remained faithful to the House of Kobayashi. Kumori, though, was considered too rambunctious a girl to learn the tea ceremony and calligraphy and powder her face each morning before the sun rose. However, just because she excelled on horse-back and could hit anything in the air with a bow and arrow didn’t mean that many of the girls who wore fancy kimonos didn’t have secret crushes on Kumori.

“Ah! here comes lovely Fuyu,” Kumori thought to herself, spotting a jovial-looking girl coming down from the direction of the castle. “She might be able to tell me the meaning of this gathering.”

Leaping to her feet, the girl started off at a brisk walk across the field.

“Ah, Mistress Kumori,” Fuyu said as Kumori stopped in front of her. The hand-maiden couldn’t help blush every time the ragamuffin girl was around, despite the expertly applied white powder, “what brings you so near to the castle? It is not often that you favor us with your presence anymore.”

There was reproach in the girl’s voice, though Kumori pretended not to hear.

“I am happier in the woods, as you well know, and was on my way there but now, when I paused at the sight of all these ruffians flocking in to Kobayashi Castle. What undertaking has Lady Kobayashi started upon now?”

“My lady keeps her own counsel,” said girl, “but I think a shrewd guess might be made at the purpose of a gathering. It was but three days since that her grangers were beaten back by all those rude, ruthless, landless men who call you kin; they caught in the very act of cutting up a juicy, fat buck, or so I am told. As you know, my lady, though easy and well-disposed to every girl who comes into her service, is not fond of vagabonds abusing their forest privileges on her land. Just three days ago she swore that she would clear the forest of these poachers. Or, I do not know, it may be, that this gathering of retainers is for the purpose of falling upon that robber and tyrant, Lord Toshio of Watanabe, who has already begun to harass some of our outlying lands. It is a quarrel which will have to be fought out sooner or later, and for my lady it seems the sooner the better.”

“Arigato, Fuyu-chan,” said Kumori. “I must not stand here gossiping with you. The news you have told me, as you know, touches me deeply, for I would make sure that no harm should befall my kin.”

“I plead with you, Kumori-chan, tell no one that the news came from me, for mild as Lady Kobayashi to those who attend on her at her bath, she would, I think, let me starve in the woods if she knew that I might have given a warning through which the brigands might slip through her fingers.”

“Do not worry, Fuyu-chan; I can be as silent as the rot on a tree when the need arises. Can you tell me when her lady’s forces are likely to set out?”

“Soon,” Fuyu replied. “Those who first arrived I left swilling Kobayashi Castle’s rare sake, devouring rice cake upon rice cake. The cooks of the castle have been hard pressed all day, and from what I hear, this band of ruffians will set forth as soon as dusk falls upon the walls of my lady’s keep.”

[to be cont.]

body, remember

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Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds on which you lay,
but also those desires for you
that glowed plainly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice—and some
chance obstacle made futile.
Now that all of them belong to the past,
it almost seems as if you had yielded
to those desires—how they glowed,
remember, in the eyes gazing at you;
how they trembled in the voice, for you, remember, body.

— Constantine Cavafy (translation by Rae Dalven)