in praise of dirty hands

and on other days
the streets are quiet
beneath a sky like milk
that glows from behind
and all i can hear
are the birds i cant see
seeking, im sure, the flowers
in the garden of my belly
craving more care
and a pair of willing hands.

~ scratched across your chest the words "here be monsters".
~ i want to say yes. i want to say sorry.
~ let me come to you, more whole than you've ever known.
~ the hymn is in the falling, so spoke dostoevsky.
~ and i had often wondered from where the music came...

"there was a star riding through clouds one night, and i said to the star, ‘consume me.’"

with me i bring the earth and sea,
fire and winds. carry the moon and sun
on my shoulders and chose my weapons

wisely. binding myself
more tightly spilling
into the sky.

i dare. you,
probably.

to part the curtains i imagine
of lace and of shells. to see.
skin's hidden secret stretch marks.
invisible - a different kind of growth.

uncharted territory in blood red.
sparking divinities. epiphanies.
i am becoming.
(a) stranger.





title from 'the waves' by virginia woolf

"The air was blue, you could hold it in your hand.."

moments as beads fumbled through fingers
like a rosary. that would be the worst fear.
it implies a lack of attentiveness to now.
an impassivity distorted into kinesis
in which pointless movement indicates life.

it's not about worlds orbited, but
the combination and culmination of those inside.
the absorption of dark and it's opposite.

refracting and reflecting light sculpted
into various guises all of whom possess the sky.

even the ones that leave you seasick.

because always behind the clouds still or fluid
stars stud black forming wordless worlds.
guided by more than the tangible senses
unto which like a net we stretch ourselves
and whisper encore.




title from "the lover" by marguerite duras

love letter to..

you tilt your head in anticipation.

your best self concealed
behind the kind of eyes
modigliani would be proud.
the blackness only serving
to enhance their potency
and provide a dwelling
for ghosts.

you take a bite from the orange
as though it were an apple.
skin cracks. teeth pierce flesh.
your mouth ready. for sweetness.

yet you believe yourself broken.
hard to love. the eggshells though,
they hold your weight. and your feet,
they carry the world.

a world where i think i want
nothing more than to crush the stars
in fists that open like flowers
into crumbs to sustain us.

besides
the dark tends to bring a clarity
no light can produce.

eat.