the lights are dimbut he can still see
the mastectomy scars
when she puts his hands on her
chest and meets his eyes
as if she dares him to speak.
it does not matter
whether he can feel
a phantom weight
in the palm of his hand.
she is not less.
who is the artist here?i will write flowers if i want
to- luridly, paint still dripping from their stems
naming the earth the scent
of angel hair,
fluorescent sweetness and a long-stemmed cradle
rocking the youngest breeze to lull
even the lichen on the stones barricading
the rowdy flowerbeds from the lawn
into bloom. the corpse rotting in the garden has fat
red-rimmed begonias bloating
from the right eye socket.
the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out.
i will write flowers if i want,
and i will write dead bodies if i want.
sometimes in the same poem.
CURSTWHOEVER RECEIVES THIS SEND HELP STOP
THEY ARE COMING STOP
WE CANT WAKE UP STOP
SAND IN THE EARS OF THE SLEEPING STONE SHAKEN OUT STOP
QUAKE AND BREAK AND SHAKE THE POISON OUT OF YOURSELF STOP
A DANCE THROUGH THE DESERT IS ALL YOU NEED STOP
ON THE SEVENTH DAY OUR SUNBURNT HEARTS DECIDED THAT THEY NEEDED REST STOP
WE OPENED THE TOMB THE STONE ROLLED AWAY FROM THE CAVE DOOR TOO SMOOTHLY STOP
WE SWORE THEY WERE COFFEE STAINS ON THE WEDDING GOWN STOP
FINGER BONES IN THE MUSIC BOX YET WE WERE UNAFRAID STOP
WE DID NOT THINK IT WOULD COME TO THIS STOP
WE DID NOT ASK AND SO WERE NEVER WARNED STOP
WE MEANT TO DO NO HARM BUT NEVER THOUGHT TO BE HARMED STOP
THE VICTIMS KIN UNFLOWERING STOP
REDREDRED RED DRESS REDRESS FOR THE CRIME STOP
A MOUTH OPENED AND FULL OF FALSE EYELASHES STOP
WE WILL OPEN UP AND KISS OUR WIVES FOREVER STOP
ETERNITY UNDER THE PALM TREES AND HEAVENS RADIO UP ON HIGH STOP
THE BODY IS A FORM OF FAILURE STOP
ITS SO QUIET HERE STOP
even though i'm a drought right now...imagine yourself as the rain
looking down on the braided rivers
you weave intricately in to the shingle,
green willows choreographing their dance
in honour of your kiss and
swollen canyons carving
the threnodies you sing
into the earth
who else can make what
you can make?
how to dress for your shapea box
i'm going to write angry letters about marriagei’m going to write angry letters about marriage equality
because men and women
are meant to
marry for children, not for
themselves; for the need
to declare their mutual
fertility, not their desire each to be
the soil from which
the other’s grass
can grow; for their properties
as test-tube and
the jubilant flash as
your chemicals light mine like
a spark from the sun
as it discovers love.