the abyss

15 Tuesday Jan 2013

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spirit shark of my soul

spirit shark of my soul

1.
Mountains do not amaze the way the gaps
in the earth do. The Marianas calls
for me, those dark bottomless shapes on maps
where our feeble sunlight dies and nightfalls
over and over into the abyss.

2.
To sink, to drift, to dream, a soul crying
in the darkness. I do not know if “bliss”
is the right word, perhaps it’s “fear”? Drowning
is a thing larger than our souls. Union

3.
with these eldritch horrors. Souls can never
find their way home once lost in the ocean.

4.
Pray for this diving bell and its diver.
Pray that pressure does not crush, oxygen
holds out, that all we love comes back again.

amazonomachy

15 Tuesday Jan 2013

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Now I hunt for the tomb of Queen Myrine,
was with her when the walls of Cerneh fell.
Myrine, who laid the Greek and Philistine
worlds to ash. Hippolyta, the rebel
Amazon, loved her. And, fey and childlike,
I did, too. Wars come, wars go, but hunger
remains. Once, curious what I tasted like
inside, we fell, clinging to each other
in a berserk haze. Hips grinding, amazed,
hot with blood-sweat until the war-god, Mars,
became enraptured. Now women are praised
for their chastity, not battle scars.
My queen, your tomb is lost, but your cravings
and name live on. Take these, my offerings.

    Note:

Amazonomachy: art portraying battles between Greeks and Amazonian warriors; Pheidias designed an amazonomachy upon the shield of Athena Parthenos, a statue of the goddess found in the Parthenon.

Video

denise lasalle’s “lick it before you stick it”

15 Tuesday Jan 2013

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this song is dedicated to all the men out there
who don’t seem to know how to keep their woman happy
i want y’all to take a little listen
see if you want to … try this

some men think that the height of woman’s pleasure
is when he’s kissing her on her lips
and some men think that the joy of foreplay
is caressing with his fingertips
and some men think a little titty kissing
is the answer to every women’s dream
but let me tell ya how to kiss her
if you really want to hear her scream

you’re making her feel good,
but you can make her feel better
if you treat your lady
like a stamp and a letter

lick it, before you stick it (x4)

now all you fellows
sitting there laughing
let me tell you this no stage joke
(she ain’t playin’)
if you really want to please her
just find that little man in the boat
you can tease it, gently squeeze it,
message it with your fingertips
but sorry fellas, the job ain’t over
until you take it between your lips

you’re making her feel good,
but you can make her feel better
if you treat your lady
like a stamp and a letter

lick it, before you stick it (x4)

now some men think a little titty kissing
is the answer to every women’s dream
but let me tell ya how to kiss her
if you really want to hear her scream

you’re making her feel good,
but you can make her feel better
if you treat your lady
like a stamp and a letter

lick it, before you stick it (x16)

haha, the fellas got it
now girls you can’t stick it
but you sure can lick it

a scandalous love affair with colors

15 Tuesday Jan 2013

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What can I say? Gray does not breathe and blue
is too smug, green a cheat. Then there’s yellow.
I can live with yellow, whose one virtue
is a warm, gentle buzzing, all mellow
and soft, in my ears whenever we kiss.
One time I got to third base with purple,
that’s not saying much, I know. The princess
of the spectrum, teal, calls me a wastrel-
-nogoodnik-bum. All that is luminous
delights me. All that is so bright it burns
my eyes, pleases. There is a queer blindness
though, when it comes to night hues and nocturnes,
blindness the way the soul is blind at peace
and all my needs to be loved by things cease.

translating wormwood

15 Tuesday Jan 2013

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All the ancient birds heard me say farewell
to the trees, my deep roots, when my shadow
was touched by that egg of dark, that thin shell.
I am now far from the sea, the ghetto,
even the horizon does not recall
my name. I seem to miss those ugly things
that helped anchor me here. I had a doll
once, a lost thing without hair or blessings,
that slept in my arms since no one else would.
We make do with what will love us. Like words,
we love what shows up. Translating wormwood
into poems. I call on all bastards
to show me how to live with this pathos.
Better still, how to master this chaos.

mahdokht: daughter of the moon

14 Monday Jan 2013

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Naked or veiled, you’re not some impotent
man’s wet dream; black kohl of a houri tossed
to a paradise only a merchant
of girl flesh would pander to. When you lost
your milk teeth, you threw them up to the sun,
singing, “take my donkey teeth and bring me
gazelle teeth.” I love how our old heathen
language survived. Now we speak with fairy
tongues. My daughter, you might be a jinneh,
but you’re no reward, no handmaid. Naked
or veiled, I shall love you. I shall love you
chaste and vestal or ribald and risque.
We speak of an agreement, a scared
pact, not spoken in Persian or Hebrew.

][][

Notes:

Houri: in Persian lore, one of the immortal virgins of the Koranic paradise; used to describe a beautiful, but submissive, woman.

Jinneh: a female jinn.

phantasmic comforts: asleep in the city of souls

14 Monday Jan 2013

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Las Vegas literature has been and continues to be a literature of exiles, written mainly by outsiders who arrived from elsewhere, stayed briefly, lingering along the city’s glittering Strip and never once invest the place with any depth, any soul, any idea of what was going on around them.

Las Vegas literature has been and continues to be a literature of exiles, written mainly by outsiders who arrive from elsewhere, stay briefly, linger along the city’s glittering Strip but never once invest the place with any depth, any soul, any idea of what is going on around them.

I had never witnessed so many ghosts
until I lived in Vegas. The desert’s
potter’s field; for, what other city boasts
such a thin veil? What phantasmic comforts
could such a necropolis offer up
to the living? The Valley of Fire called
and the temple of Sekhmet called. Worship
comes in all forms. Can you hear this? Ribald
pleasures are nothing compared to carnal
worship. The ghosts came in throngs. They hungered
to be witnessed. “Hear me, friend, the frightful
veil is not all so frightful,” they murmured.
There is no Emerald City; Vegas
is a way station, nothing more or less.

Video

yoko kanno’s “want it all back”

14 Monday Jan 2013

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you said you wanted to see paris
so i took you to the movies
‘bon amie’ or something french like that
and then you said you were embarrassed
because i never bought you jewelry
television shopping fixed all that

funny thing
’cause i haven’t seen you lately
when i called your house
it wasn’t you who told me

i heard it all
from your dad
i used up all my money on you baby
and i want it back

i want it back
i used up all my money tryin’ to please ya
now i want it back

do you remember late last winter?
you said that you had nothin’ to wear
those fake fur pajamas looked real nice

i couldn’t take you to miami
but i took you to the ocean and we
had some blue hawaii on the beach

let me think
if i add up all you owe me
and include my time
i might make it through the summer

and i guess that
ain’t too bad
i used up all my money on you, baby
and I want it back

i want it back …
said i want it all back
gimmie my money all back
want my money all back

Want It All Back from the album Cowboy Bebop: Vitaminless
The Seatbelts and Yoko Kanno, cheers, sister.

a dark science

13 Sunday Jan 2013

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There are two scars on the dead woman’s breasts
but when I run my finger over them
she mews, shivers and turns away. Our chests
soon touch and she pushes her need and phlegm,
a stub of a blue tongue, into my mouth.
Love should come with no strings or not at all.
When I move between her thighs, “go down south,
Moses,” I can taste on her clit the gall
of the methanol used in embalming.
There is a science to all this, I know.
A dark science. I treasure that second
when she climaxed, laughing and crying,
when the dead discovered lust once more
and our understanding of love deepened.

leanbh, love

13 Sunday Jan 2013

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“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
with a faery, hand in hand,
for the world’s more full of weeping
than you can understand.”
–William Butler Yeats (1889)

Why? More than love, more than sex, I want you
as a changeling; leaving behind twine
and kelp — flotsam and jetsam — that I grew
from tide foam. Tonight your parent’s bloodline
ends. Yes. Tonight your heart shall no longer
be this lonely. Leave the hearth fire unlit.
Leave your father who ordered you never
to see me again. You’ve tasted my clit
in the moonlight. You have made this airy
creature cum and cum. Leanbh, love, tonight
all the world sleeps. Let’s leave this misery
for a world of little deaths and moonlight.
This lust, leanbh, is the gods’ true essence.
Leanbh, lust is our true inheritance.

NOTE: “leanbh” is the old Irish word for “babe” or “child,” a term of endearment.