something organic

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I want to keep you. I want to swallow
you. I want to do your laundry. I want

to feed you all your meals. I want to know
the taste of your sleeping eyes. Do not haunt

me like this. What am I to you? A dumb
toy? You do not do. You once let me kiss

each crumb from your mouth. You fed me on crumbs.
I feel my heart—it beats—hurts. What is this

need for something organic? something warm
to sleep on—the breasts of a trespasser

returning from alien dreams—let dawn
creep in. Even I can be a newborn,

screaming about this ghostly encounter
of ours, screaming until my voice is gone.

][][

“you do not do/ any more … ”—Sylvia Plath

cold tongue on warm flesh

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Of course I believe in hell—What’s worse
than this? Wanting one you know you shouldn’t?

No, that’s what we all do. It’s that old curse;
finding out just what a vile and blatant

bastard you’re stuck with. That’s lamentable.
That’s a joke. That’s the one thing we all say,

“this must end.” I was inconsolable
when you left. I was wretched on the day

you came back home. It’s hard not to despise
someone who takes my love for granted. Death

changed nothing; you’re still a pig when you touch
me. Cold tongue on warm flesh, between your thighs,

your cock filling me. I can feel your breath
coming in quick gasps. I hate you so much.

][][

you disturb my natural emotions/ you make me feel I’m dirt/ and I’m hurt
and if I start a commotion/ I’ll only end up losing you/ and that’s worse

—buzzcocks, “ever fall in love with someone you shouldn’t’ve?

dawn obscured crept in

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Nov 21, 2013 (2)

White teeth, rosebud mouth, lipstick; nothing hints
that you’ll find my skull this pretty, pulling

me from the shark’s maw. She left red clay prints
on the floor where she threw her soiled clothing,

sashayed about naked. Her elbows propped
under her chin, two bare stick-like legs

displayed wide beneath the table. Her cropped
hair looked fresh. Gunshot wounds, witch burnings, plagues;

all my loves have tales to tell. Dawn obscured
crept in to pool nearby, her ribcage cast

odd blue shadows. Without thinking she poured
a shot of gin, slugged it down, sat aghast

as it dripped down, a dribble and a spurt,
between bones, mixing with the red grave dirt.

][][

notes

I was once told in a dream the manner in which I would die—-drowning at sea and ending up in a shark’s belly. Over the years I’ve found people laugh when I tell them this, which is odd since most people in America die from heart disease, cancer and strokes … all rather terrible and unglamorous ways to go. At least with accidental drowning I’ll be in good company with the likes of Natalie Wood (actress), Percy Bysshe Shelley (slushy, in-bred poet), Dennis Wilson (drug-addled Beach Boy), Virginia Woolf (superstar), Brian Jones (not as super as Woolf but still a star) and Joe Delaney (American football player and saint). Plus, the Great White Shark is my spirit guide and if I have to end up being anyone’s Sunday brunch I’d much rather go to someone I love and respect.

my favorite aliens

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Just how many of us can make monsters
scream with delight? I’ve met shadows in deep

blue shades, hungry for love between blurs
of vinyl record scratches. If you can sleep

you can dream. Dream of love in the ruins
of “what shouldn’t be.” Of “sin.” Of strong drink.

Let’s get drunk. I tell you, the aliens
of my life are exactly what you think,

creatures that want to be tied up firmly
have your upturned hand raised towards a krypton

green ass. Have fingers creep slowly due south
between horned knees. She is blushing, I see;

there is a plea in her eye and smile on
what I can only assume is her mouth.

ruin is not for you

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Nov 20, 2013 (2)

Sister mine—what she calls liberation
is just one more example of lapis

red extermination. You are captain;
you’ll fight with Penthesilea at Troy. Princess

Ainia ordered you to spare no one;
so what makes you different from Achilles?

I have been lost in mist, grayish brown, dun
light let me sooth-say from papyrus. Please,

sister mine, listen. Do not be martyr,
warrior or her fool. Be the wild night’s mare.

Gallop to me. Ruin is not for you.
Let me wash your feet in saffron and myrrh.

Troy and Princes Ainia will fall—Swear
that you won’t, too. Please, swear that you won’t, too.

][][

notes:

For the background of the picture I used an ancient Greek pot showing the Fall of Troy.

Princess Ainia was an Amazon who was the personal enemy of Achilles. Due to this, she brought her forces with her and fought against the Greeks at Troy. Her name means, “Swiftness.”

Queen Penthesilea was the daughter of Orithia and the god Ares. She was known for her bravery, her skill in weapons and her wisdom. During the ten year long siege of Troy she killed many Greek warriors, including Machaon and the Achilles the Greater. Her name means “She Who Compels Men to Mourn.”

clematis and poppy king seed

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Nov 18, 2013 (2)

shaman of clematis and poppy king
seeds reads the four genuine directions

found deep inside the pistil opening
with blue heat would you follow these omens

to the land of the dead just to bury
your nose in its flaring cobalt? giving

birth to demons we are the ancestry
of our future smut the dead leave judging

to the self-conceited shamans know who
will talk who’ll fuck who’ll give us the answers

the dead summon us come come a well-hung
sapphire ring re-sizes itself for you

could you wrap it around your two fingers?
could you wrap it around your bluest tongue?

bleeding without

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It was the summer that my friends wanted
to be poor Nancy Spungen with track marks

and ripped fishnets we were tripping balls blood
acid drain-o paranoid as if narcs

would bust us as if I could fill my lungs
with your breath your bloodshot eyes a command

urging me begging for tastes bites lips tongues
pressure please I’m bleeding without my hand

on your breast naked under your leather
jacket “never trust a junkie” Nancy

said in the alley skirt pulled to hips blunt
tongue in deep where are you now my lover?

we were kids wanna-be London junkies
without needle marks it was all different

thank you, my friends

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This is a shout-out to those who wrote to me when I was feeling very blue last week. Your kindness was exactly what I needed, thank you! It’s still a bit crazy on my end.

To make a long story short, my grandmother was 92 years old when she passed over, so it wasn’t shocking, but sad. I flew out to California last Friday for the funeral, but something went wrong. I’m back in Michigan now, the funeral hasn’t happened just yet, though I fly back out to California on this coming Sunday. My grandfather is a retired marine (he fought in World War 2, in the Pacific) and he wants for himself and my grandmother to be buried at the marine cemetery Riverside, CA (it’s a big honor to be buried there). You’d think this would be a simple request, but no. Everything comes down to waiting until a governmental office in Minneapolis that deals with arranging for marine burials gives the funeral home where my grandmother’s body is currently at the OK to bring her to Riverside. We had been told it was going to happen yesterday, on Sunday, so the whole family flew in from Colorado and Michigan and parts of California down to Santa Ana where my grandparents lived. What no one told us was that last Monday was Veteran’s Day, being a holiday, so that pushed everything back a week. We believe the screw-up occurred with the funeral home, since they were the ones who told us the date. Unfortunately they’re also the only service in all of LA that deals with Riverside directly, so it wasn’t like we could go use someone else. Anyway, what this means to me is I’ll be in Michigan until next week, when I’ll battle Thanksgiving holiday crowds to head out to California for 48 hours for the funeral (I hope it happens this time) The good side of all this is that we were able to have our service for my grandmother on time, since the whole family was together. That felt good.

Once again, getting your kindness last week was a delight and surprise. It was exactly what I needed =)

the problem with words

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late night party

mama after the party

][][

—– —– —- emptiness into emptiness into
this, which did not die. How can I be brave

when all this now stops? All that we once knew
must go … go down into darkness of grave

dirt — words stop, too, they’re heavier than earth;
right now I can’t shape them. I am a nurse.

I know about the science of death, birth
and all that lies in-between. What is worse

than this? needing but being unable
to find words, emptiness into — I know

I need my words about my grandmother
when we all gather at her funeral

but our matriarch is dead, she must go
now, wait for all of us to come to her.

note:

On Monday morning, November 11th, my 92 year old grandmother passed over. I will be off-line for a while, I must fly out to California and help my family prepare for the funeral. Almost everyone on my father’s side died before I was born. Up until now no one on my mother’s side had died, This isn’t the poem I shall read, but it is the poem about not knowing what to say.

I hope everyone is well. Cheers.