lament for summer. Summer hair tossed, curling locks of sweet chestnutrisen bulk of thick oak treesthroats of soil,heads of blooming green stifling heat, fogs of orange duskwooden gate / rusted iron lockkissing blades of grass a stone wall / a wailing wallyellow parchment paperdrops of cerulean ink tiny little prayers unanswered questions shadowed secretsburied beneath stones, glass, cool dirt(cairns for fragile memories)to be swallowed up by the womb of Earth safe for another day.
fancy voodoo spicesraised in a shallow grave on a sable eveningnose plugs dipped in alcoholfeel a shaking in my bones, like vinegarshe walks like a cat, spreading brick dust as she goesswaggering in Southern heatrising up from the ground in a steady trancecounts the fingerscounts the toessings to me in velvet voicesleave me pound cakekiss the gravestonedont look back at where youre goingpress needles in my dollrub the powder on my gumshang the gris-gris round my necksing low, dont leave no coinsfeel the music in my feetfeel the crawl beneath my skinsee the pale of her bone white eyesfancy voodoo spiceslighting up my soul
Triptych.i. Presentation of Eve to Adam</b>Upon his waking:Porcelain skin, the slender spoon-shaped curve of her backSapphires down-turned, poised and half-liddedAbove pursed lipsHair falls in golden ringletHand around her wrist,As though measuring the worth of her --Cape billowing like a bursting heartLeans in real close;"You are his, and he is yours, and you are a part of him."Pursed lips form an 'o', shape of life, shaping wordsShe finished, "And this is good."Nightmare creatures from underneath the earthLying togetherFlight of birdsA piece of innocence, everlasting"Stay, for you are a part of me,And I a part of you."ii. Garden of Earthly Delights</b>Organic vessels drinking from mollusks and lustful eyes and parted lips and slack jaws and clothes strewn everywhere and the secret man in his secret cave plastic tubes and secret woman and their secret words broken shells and conical huts and cavorting and dancing and sex and play and color all the color
the Major Arcana.0. The FoolSomewhere along the way, Id died.The person inside me, built up over so many years, fashioned in the wants and the needs and the loves and the hates, cracked, or turned black, or got infected, and fell away, into nothing. I had been emptied of myself, my identity. I was no one, and no one was mine. And in my emptiness, I felt free, and in need of adventure. Something tugged at my heart, or what shouldve been my heart, and so I left behind my life, and chased the horizon.I walked for a very, very long while. Time melted into one long hybrid of day and night, colors of the sun and moon running and bleeding into each other. I stuck to the woods, and, when I needed to, ate whatever I could find. I slept in the shelter of the trees.The world seems much bigger when you dont have anything but wanderlust in you. Impossibly big, like youre looking through a childs eyes, reliving the days when anything was possible, and everything was filled wi
clouds.CirrusThey trained their big eyes upward, to the sky, glittering sacrifices in their hands, cut fresh from Earths appendage. Its a song, they whispered, or wanted to whisper, their quiet voices crushed underfoot in the mares wild rampage across the arching virga.NoctilucentAs a little girl growing up, there were many things she wanted to be; a princess, a doctor, a superhero saving people from their sadness. But years later, as she and her lover soared across the night sky, she knew, it was all she ever wanted just to be a part of that burning twilight.AltostratusWig, make-up, plastic, masks, prosthetics; just a few more days, no time to be different if you want to be cool, if you want to make sure no one ever sees who you are, (who are you?) who you are because if they do, if they do, ifffftheyyyyyydooooooooo
CumulusThey spent their days on the boat, or in the field, drinking sweet milk and eating sticky fruit pluck
delirium.Tracing the contours of your eyesI wonder if weve ever loved each otherAs much as they say we do in the magazinesThe paper they use nowhere near as sleek as your skin.We immerse ourselves in our personasThe desperate housewifeAnd the broken dreamerSwimming in shallow watersAlive with writhing sharks and brightly-colored fishes.In an effort to forget you;Face-paint splayed out on my bureauEvery nightI mold myself a different faceBejeweled masks of identity diffusionCarving letters and numbersInto my porcelain skinReducing you to dates and ideasThe day we met 63109Our first kiss 70109That special moment 72309I saw you for who you really are 80609We flared up, two shadows in unionAnd smeared our love across the sky and the asphaltTying our fingers together with silver ribbonsAnd promising never to leave each others side.
The Black Tambourine.It blew into town on a sickly wind, a ragged shadow that carried a stench so fowl it made dogs lame. The townsfolk knew not of its nature, nor of its purpose, but they knew well enough to protect themselves. They painted their doorposts with lambs blood, shut their blinds, and sat in their dark homes, praying that the thing did not smell them out.It stalked the dusty streets, day and night, and when it found the odd meal, the sickening crack of their bones could be heard for miles. None had the time to scream. Sunrise, sunset, the thing scuttled and dragged itself through alleys, across roof tops, along streets, hunting. It could wait for its prey. It could wait for them, pale and shivering and terrified, to come sneaking out of their holes, desperate for food, for water, for help.And they did. One by one, they did. Of course, it took time, but it had all the time in the world.Then, one evening, the clouds rolled in. Looming puffs of grey, they banked on the horizo
geometric cycles.Winter A small death in Soviet Russia. Little girl, fingers frozen, soft snow kisses from a slate gray sky. She imagines it's much like dreaming - slipping underneath warm water; she is in a world of curtains cradled by a blue-faced angel. Underneath the bridge in Moscow, a last breath, a silent farewell is carried into the wind.Spring A steady heartbeat is a murmur in the place she is beginning. Can a fetus dream? the mother wonders absently, as she maps with her fingers the swell of her stomach at seven months. Potential, promise, an unwanted pregnancy --- all these words melt into a meaningless trickle in her head. She walks from the clinic, and she chooses a name.Summer Her first memory is of her mother in their rose garden; seeing her smile as she rises from her work. It is all she can think of now, in a million different places - on the subway, at the apartment,