Tag Archives: chaos

tower

08 Tuesday Sep 2020

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Chaos. I can feel the howl of your blood
calling me home. You’re slung low in my guts

the way gods cradle a newly minted
mortal. Kiss me and know just how riots

smolder, vexed by their own fire. Chaos feels
nothing like that, being form and formless,

like blood, like cum. Spread your lips wide, ordeals
of the soul require a gaped grin. Transgress

with blood-honey dripping legs. Carnivore
your needs. Betray your paths. You know I will

follow you anywhere. Your rosebud, gaped
O wrapped around a stone tower. Sink core

deep. That’s my Chaos to you; deformed thrill,
gnarled and scintillating, passion misshaped.

snog

06 Friday Apr 2018

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Susurrus: “a soughing of the waves;
murmur of flow.” Kissing you in the fog,

under stunted myrtle. When the flesh craves
more than just fingers and tongues, when a snog

goes on for too long – your jeans unbuttoned,
dew drops in your pubes, mica-flakes under

your nails – you make that lechery-moistened
groan. The sea cries in want and you answer

with your own cum-soaked sob, estuary
soaking your jeans. In those fifteen minutes

during recess – with dune grass, pear cactus,
with wet panting in us and susurrus

around us – we become the wind’s secrets
to the surf; children of chaos and glee.

ills

19 Friday May 2017

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Ghosts rise and drink. Before the sulfuric heat

of the muggy gray sky (which never rains)

untwines itself from the dawn my heartbeat

murmurs and my hand shakes. Each new bloodstain

from the kitchen knife oozes down my arm

only to scab over. My body plays

host to a host of ills that plague and swarm

throughout me. I’m simply the obscene maze

that all things must flee from — Mama Lilith;

I’m shit-faced and you’re here with my meltdown.

Your twitch, my cut, all this must bleed. As host

to this chaos I’m your kith drunk on myth,

your kin sodden on gin — I won’t come down;

nothing comes down; not host-demon, not ghost.

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.

the havoc of dragonflies

25 Monday Oct 2010

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I want to steal your soul because, they claim,
the soul is said to be held in one’s breath.
Come and whisper in my mouth. Breathe your name
inside me and I will keep it safe. Death
has no meaning when I lap it up. Lips
to lips. The way I lap every drop up.
Raw. Half-baked. Tiny tongue fucks. Tongue that slips
inside your prayer song. This ancient worship
we all do. Yes. You. Me. Divine. When love
is not divine it is not love. It spins
us. I’m dizzy. I want you but above
all else I want your soul. In me. Our sins
of the flesh. Our kissing flesh never lies.
Kissing is the havoc of dragonflies.

chaos in the flesh

27 Tuesday Apr 2010

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Often the body acts like an engine,
or if not an engine at least chaos
in flesh. All this bloodroot, all this brazen
passion boiling over, seeping across
our palms, between our fingers, down brute wrists.
Chaos in flesh. Why talk about pain? loss?
shame? Let us have rendezvous, affairs, trysts
today. I will call you Boss Eros, Boss
Venus. In your boots come calling. Let me
seek a slit in your denim. Let me come
to warm flesh, then curls. Let me find sticky
what I hope. Let me grope. Until your numb
flesh curls. Buckles. Spurting volcanic fur.