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Total: 82 | Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Wrists and ankles are equivalent: same frailest skin, and with paper-thin illumination from subterranean veins. Each jointed sensuality, as in, a slice of ankle glimpsed in the gap between pant leg and high heel from a luncheon bench at midday or a Ray Charles bracelet-ed grip with pads of fingers, receptors of femininity. Yet, each fatal in their accessibility, their vulnerable lack of ... Continue Reading

Posted: August 23rd, 2005

words have implanted their stingers, not weary of death or dismemberment. it's just a wives tale anyway. those bees can sting a thousand times, and live to tell their queen. it can't ever be the same. each sentence carves it's lines as cursive in the wood. the bees carry their tales through the forest. using tiny swirls, to tell the other animals what's been said. ... Continue Reading

Posted: June 6th, 2005

The thing about movement is that it implies a jumping off or on, into or out of, a sort of falling through or rubbing against, and it is not patient, nor rarely reasonable, because when things move, there must be room to spare, perhaps enough for a shoulder or thigh; And this illusion starts the uncertain arm-reaching and hand-grabbing that cannot be explained, and yet, there is comfor ... Continue Reading

Posted: March 25th, 2005

like crumpled scrap metal, cracked, the machine of me is ruined --Show me your slit-- harsh in my turned ear pressed to a pavement bed as he pried me apart, hands like crowbars— mean, invading with that penetration of sharp twice—my function and my greatest fear, then left as garbage to be picked up in the early morning rain: work-hole, slit uncovered rusting itself shut. ... Continue Reading

Posted: February 16th, 2005

the words are linear incarnations of some Sisyphian task: moving frictiously, angling the page-- I stop-- my static weight bruising the paper with inkblots of pelvises, arctic oil spills. ... Continue Reading

Posted: February 16th, 2005

She said Your heartbeat Is my metronome Your fingers taper Like bows Your lungs are filled With wood wind And when you wheeze You sound like A symphony She said Your bones are sexy I want to play your spine Like a Xylophone And bang out lust rhythms On your clavicle I want to shake shake Your pelvis Like a Maraca She said You are finely tuned But rusty I would give you A ... Continue Reading

Posted: January 26th, 2005

I swallow them down, the black-veined monarchs like tiger lily blossoms-- fight them into wetness, tongue papery wings that flutter mad against the palate: folding, unfolding to kiss my stomach. ... Continue Reading

Posted: January 26th, 2005

They start as simply plump bodies Frozen onto white powdered tree limbs As simply as flittering off into blue sky Into a flutter of unique bodies soaring Now, a cloud of beauty on wings The beauty in birds is the clarity They use to display honesty. During their majestic flight Against cold, huffy & puffy wind, They show how easy it is to ask For help with a simple act of grace, Ho ... Continue Reading

Posted: January 23rd, 2005

I feel the smooth dips in his chest and wherever my eyes lay, my fingers caress the collarbone kissed and a blessing laid to rest in the sloping curves of his silent melody and the smoothness in his sleeping body My fingers trace a map onto his skin and from the invisible lines, the dream begins from the nape of his neck to the hollowed bends in his hip I imagine the taste of his brea ... Continue Reading

Posted: December 30th, 2004

there, in the corner of sky sleeps a dragon with its long tail lazily resting on the gold horizon... this horizon that has managed to capture brilliance reflected off of sun-brushed treetops and against a copper palette weathered by mysteries celestial and natural ...and from its smokey breath scatter prayers that for generations had been misplaced and unattended but, now, are scooped ... Continue Reading

Posted: November 26th, 2004

Total: 82 | Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9