I could become a tree, some garden growing season-shaped and silent: lust and love and language growing quiet in the night. I want to be your lover though and friend, a darkness bleeding light and hope, a dance of strangers coming home. I want to love you, be your skin and waking nights, the quiet [...]
Too many thoughts, too many doubts: my head a poison shape balloon, filled with nightmare gore; my body swollen with the kind of questions army engineers turn into acts of war, where dreams are raped and tortured in the cold steel light of day. My love, come rescue me and take away these mirrors that [...]
We were out for the day, back in the forest. I was looking for firewood, dead wood; you were bravely ducking dragons and low and sneaky branches. Rain was falling; squirrels were so busy rushing up and down a final summer rain; leaves were whistling, wrestling, whispering, singing and still sinuously clinging to the soaked [...]
What strange trombone or clarinet pierced through the skin of night? What tone, now quiet, high or low left echoes of some soft lament and left me in its quiet wake? Some half-remembered dream (of wings and snow and island trees and hair made of the morning wind and strange deep pools of hungry flesh) [...]
What I sometimes want is to be Shakespeare or John Donne, lying in some famous grave, my face on postcards and my bones revered, visited by love-sick pilgrims. My words still copied and soft-spoken by a world of lovers, who find meaning in their shadow fire, whispered through some endless night, when strangers meet and [...]
Birds are doing summersaults against a rapture sky. This our city, pock-marked with the best intentions mankind had to spare, lies against this summer sky like some old beached Leviathan. Statues dressed in pigeon melt inside the summer heat that melts into these endless nights: so camp-fire soft and slow, made for lustful sleeping-bags and [...]