the plasticized quantum theory
une voleur honteux
slip of the tongue
in each saturated pore
spectrum rehearses its symphony
crooked whispers of a flute
a glimpse of blue infinitude
quiets the confines of los alamos
¿quién es él? eso piensa
paralysis in the peristalsis
jewel in the vitreous humor
until it watercolors
the poison of psyche
papillae the plagues
oxidizing ash and ember
a quivering effigy
splinters the moon
the mirrored hand exhales
swept the epileptic ceiling
dissolving tendrils of mahogany
detached from the retina
tranquil, the deception
the film frame fades
captured in the mercury
In case of emergencyI saw the roots of prairie grassesIn case of emergency7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like carrion beetles in their yellowing shells
Nibbling angrily, at the concrete beneath my feet,
At wood sheared to fence posts near the road.
The very earth they rejected, drawing what peace they could.
When did stained glass become the standard?
I have forged narrow mountain paths and stumbled over
Bottle caps secreted between the mica flakes and quartz.
In this city, in the sectors most pregnant with age,
Trees testify shamelessly into the sky.
Clandestine, one coils his reach toward
A flimsy cable, twisted and strung precariously
From corpse to shabby corpse, on and on.
Graceful and altogether stoic, another refuses to wince
As the merciless force of a school bus violates its skirts.
All the monstrous lizards reduced to macabre exhibits,
I fault them for dying. With cold blooded savages
Of the biological nature, the world was better off.
Save the best for last is never the real philosophy.
Find me the soul that cares for what happens to its carca
ScrutinyAnd when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,Scrutiny7 years ago in Open More Like This
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect
I am lost in my own depth, I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic princes love)
and they, floating through their channels deep
dare to drown me in my sleep and in their orisons remember
So shall I be a queen bone and ash,
of crawling worms and sullied, melting flesh.
Kissed by death, I shall burn upon a pyre
knowing only distance and desire and, rising from the fire,
I shall step with soft, unfettered feet
But in absence of the heartBut in absence of the heart9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I don't want elongated days
or shadows that curve & stalk round corners
or even segmented hours,
the next one unattainable.
I never look too far forward
in fear of
the second after eternity
and then nothing will go to plan.
Atop a hill that whispers to the clouds
there lies valleys only seen from here,
valleys usually pathways trodden
to see this monstrous mound
(and not so deep at all).
And gloomy seas set in feathered cliffs,
the rocks are sharp to touch
but from the shore
are statuesque and sculpted
by indecisive tides
that tease my toes
in knowledge they have seen the hidden seabed
& I have not.
I wonder if the deeper sand
is swished around like the sand upon the shore
never here or there
or sometimes taken away
& never seen again.
There are no stories to be told
with each survivor engulfed
and persuaded (only by distance)
to ensure they are secrets kept.
Or if the grains of sand between my toes
have seen it all
but dare not speak
i am a salamanderyou were the heaviest weight in my legs when i sunk to the sediment below the surface, the salted winds birthing vacancies in my stomach; a paler form of death, light my hands on fire; a sweeter breath of black, pull me further under.i am a salamander5 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
i have always been a salamander, losing myself only to grow once more. i am the curtains in our window, densely drawn and writhing like water snakes, simply sheer films of fabric dancing under the pretense of being something special. i hope someday you love me; i hope someday i'm worth loving. for now, i am a seashell ring wrung round my finger, imprinted with starfish and clenching over the veins at the knuckle. here, i wait.
you are infinite, you are mountains. i still spit rocks from the dream i had a week ago where i kissed you and you held me and it wasn't romantic but it was nice. i am still uncomfortable with my waist and jaw and the music i can feel you sing. you are stones and trees, breath in the weighted skyline. i like the way i