Refuse/d words built into infinite forms of bodies. This collection is unedited; done in one sitting; sometimes daily, frequently infrequent.

Saturday, December 21, 2013


Come to bed,
and whisper word thoughts--
let them staccato against my skin,
let me breathe them,
liquored in sleep.

Many nights are finished
here, in this borrowed
house. And you, infinite
miles from here, but still
hinting at heaven, a clever
riddle for the rest
of my life.

Am I a visitor in your
quiet place? Amongst the
scattered cards and books?
Do I curl into your laundry
like an tiny animal seeking a nest?
Or slide into your mirror, as if
stepping into the stillness of a winter lake?
Will you eat my memory,
when you haven't any food
in the house?

And do you hear me,
fizzled in the ether,
dissolved into celestial dust-
asking you to please,
Please come to bed?

Sunday, December 8, 2013

word conversion

My mind is a great expanse
And I wander within
it, this place.

Sometimes it is a jungle,
wet and dream-breathing.

A house with many rooms.

Sometimes, it is an ice river,
cold and whipped turbid,
thick with mountain.

it is a drained pan of a planet,
stone-stolen and lonely,
seared by the rip sun:
wasted. All, wasted.

And it has also been a salt-flat:
miles of sticky mire,
my footsteps immortalized
like a moving fossil. 

I sometimes
want to lay down in it,
the mystery
of it.

My body often becomes tired.

I have wondered before
about ruination.

I become a child with her hand in her mouth,
and paralyzed.

But always, always

words are birthed
in the soft murk of the bottom
edge of a world.

It has been like this for us.

From a frightening rot,
we emerge into a treasure funk,

I translate myself, again. 


the perfect “O” of the mouth
making a well into which
I fall,
my body eaten by gravity,
the swallowing of sound.

Into an abyss
I fall into myself,
falling forever in
the cylindrical darkness
like a piece of ash,
remembered from
the fire.