Saturday, September 22, 2007

New poem

a little flesh

a new sparrow flies from the bowl.
it is just an ambition I grow
in the dim light. I take your hand,
place it on my thigh. it is warm, your hand.
it changes skin into feather,
feather into floods. an unfamiliar music
announces your arrival.
I taste the skin of your neck:
musk and sadness. I am desperate for it,
to see the body in this nest, this wave.
what has made you so hard has made
me so thin, a new birth that cannot save.
inside this cabin, my arms turn into sound.
my legs twist to metamorphosis. I wait
in the bed for what you cannot become:
a serpent, an exile. my eyes shine into
beginnings. my noise rises, organic
museum we adore. I promise something:
under my skin, it is a haven from madness.
I whisper into your mouth - that's the way
with birds; they always come back.

Saturday, September 01, 2007


he wants
a white bird
a sky
a meadow
he wants
a blood bath
a woman
who will agree
to the gash
to the fold
and you agreed
you wrapped
your own wounds
stuck the cut
in salt
bled some more
because when he is
the night
he is like
you tremble
alone on the dog
while he hunts
with your hair
wrapped like pearls
around his knife
the blood
of a thousand
animals fresh
on his tongue
he wants
a woman
who's not a woman
something else
a poison
a spoil
and you
like so much
sweet fruit
lay waiting
on the table