The first time ever I saw

Your face

Clear, quiet, like the window before Us

Like My passion for sound

Like Your passion for light

Our passion pooled together and leaked from eyes

These tears, a salt I was familiar with

Sunk, drunk in the middle of the night

We pass our traumas back and forth

We call Each Other opposite, and bow under

the gaze of Others

But there’s something in the way You are

Hard to bind to language, My tongue does jumping jacks

but cannot curl tendril nor tenticle to the syllable

I need to tame Our relationship

But it flutters, and flashes, quarklike

indeed, friction is needed to be sparklike

I have little faith in words but oceans

of faith in You.

The Saint remains

and I open for these

Wild Flowers; Shame, Misery, Rejection, Fear

Sensory, sensible, across infinity: across the Universe with You ~

For Jacob – I see you, and I love you.

November

Gluttony swarms my stomach

a hundred a thousand a fillion worms

nestling bursting birthing themselves

dusting shelves of what I remember being

How could you

Now books are dropping like flies

From the wall

don’t know to whom these words belong

Come claim your prize

My dignity my burrowing pride

YES it’s my strength you’re reading

it’s depleting now nourishing dirt

Fertile if only for a morning

I can’t fill my gut with anything more

The moths glittering in me are drowning

So, sea-section them out in out in

Close suture and stitch with creeping vines

Take me

Seriously

Or, consume me

‘fore I consume myself a frantic pire

for Black Is A Hungry Color

Un-nest

Poppy seeds scatter across my keyboard.

Chattering songbirds pick them,

as if planted;

as if they prayed for this black mana.

I garde apples in my car, beside the

mallet my mother gave me for self defense,

for another chance at being her handy

man. Her expert supplier, unable to 

differentiate rage from femininity. Unable

to dissociate sticks of arrows from

fragility. Opium & arsenic & lilac wine:

Embalming embers of passion, closed thighs

wrapped in twine. Take a pin-up of

my spine on full display; this, 

my weapon

of choice.

I:

the strongest pronoun

I can give to the world

is the weakest I can give

to my lover.

You did not leave me unprepared,

mother. You did not strangle me

with your tears. I can still breathe

the window air. 

Oviparous obligations be damned

.

When the flock vanished

there were no seeds left.

In their places; the faintest

featherweight intentions,

& an echo of wings

on my lips.