the opposite of rocket science

it was never in a hurry. everything
in it's time. the hidden hand withdraws.
you say it's all clockwork and chemicals,
but that explanation can only be stretched
so far. take the heart for example.
how it aches for what it cannot touch.
sometimes to move retrograde
is actually forwards. pulled by the moon
like tides. through the inertia of the flesh
that manages, mostly, to hold it all in.
the appearance of being opposite
from the outside. an illusion. a kind of
armour protecting everything that is
more than the machine.

shape shifting

the night
amplifies the quiet noises
where nothing
only my certainty falters
and i swim through stars
too big for you to swallow.

and now. and again

a thousand songs hang around my neck in no bad way. tunes of small dangers. bigger lusts. can you feel me inside of you? my mouth is ready. a different kind of hunger. i recall every beginning. every end. gilded threads extending from somewhere deeper than marrow. holding on to everything that ever meant something. still life. in all it's interpretations. tonight i look like this. in the dark dancing in circles swollen with interior dramatics. dissecting old skeletons. offering bones to the pile. each story a subdivision of the whole. reminding me that someone is always leaving. leaving a hole. making space. so many layers overlapping. and despite myself it feels like falling.

where i am. dreaming

the art of suprise.

caught in the creases i imagine
your body leaves on my sheets.

i will you - rise to your feet.
slip out of your skin.
graze my knees.