Burnished head consecrating
tarnished thighs in the hot tongues of unborn
sighs candle-fingered, the light is bleeding into
Prince of stares in the semi-seeing night,
when you are certain as arrows
you will never catch me.
Cold at FourIs there a technical term for a harp maker?
If there isn't, it's you, as a body, that canine
Your name doesn't
ring right but it's what you do with it that counts:
I tumbled around it and never said it at the correct second, like the
cuboid-skulled choirgirl a note behind, loud and disgusting. A faulty
The banal usurping of my bookish tongue
came on quick.
I'm very sorry.
Everything scratched backwards and now my spine streams
from my throat, cursive handwriting.
Scored in your scalp:
the clicking of toes, falling asleep in the hands of metal men,
forgotten criminality, barbed wire telephones -.
you look like so many faces -
for all I know you don't exist except in broken chairs.
The Maritodespotic PathI am naked beneath my coat of armour.
I woke and thought it was the sickness
I'd had before - my lips had never burned
The ghost of your dog came to me
last night, while I dreamed;
it burst into grey dust and
told me my bulimic piano solos were beautiful.
Dancing under the pregnant sky,
a waning gibbous belly crowned
with violet cloth,
I converse with the moon -
deep, dark French.
I love to speak
to hunted rabbits
and unlit trees.
WitchMy belletrist, little hunched cardigan-drenched
finch, he says, Mess, blooded with French shores and burned cakes,
don't you come to my hand anymore,
crying poppies from sallow ducts, my tiny soil-saviour?
- he touches his own ass-ears with his spiked teeth
and pets me 'til I'm salmon, sunset -
Sleep in my bed, stocky moth,
cease your painting, beetle queen, queenly slut,
turned frizzy in the process of sharpening the sea,
mouth your watercolours and hose down the wall
- I am ill of him, his eating
makes me a murderer -
Newborn kettle-coffee throws a kiss
and our son climbs my sullen thighs;
I doubt we will fall out of love,
the spiders we are.
The WoodsThey were shaped like humans, humans with rat-tail hair or weeping willow spines or long hungry feet, and they danced around her, carried on her fearful imagination. She could taste their wicked delight and she cried, paralysed as they fed upon the chilled currents of winter walks. The little wolves spun up her ankles and took on her thighs; nothing left unexplored for them or her, a vicious loving in the trees. She met the thick loam with her knees and stayed upright, her hollowed body becoming the only memory anyone might ever have of her.
These are the woods where the children come to die. These are the shadows where grey-faced sleep waits, never speaking, never turning. The children fall into the grim peace and no one can follow their red toes into the shroud.
Vulva SongThe curtains are never drawn in the spare room.
Why aren't you coming, why aren't you sitting on the edge of the bath keeping watch right through me?
I feel the carpet and soak up every silent look, store them under my toenails, and I miss you. You exploded,
the bees in the lavender bush are all that's left of you.
Articulated PointsOne year after I met you -
Ill, stricken, your chocolate orange lies
castling across my joints,
I break concave dandelion, seeds
splashing under my gambling shoes.
One year, one month -
They may lay their hides over your favourite
city garden walks, might leave hopeful lip prints
on the glass in your sturdy museum holidays, spit
love-letter typefaces down their ankles or hum in the grey
cold to stay awake for surgery,
and I will coagulate with my dresses,
Merry merry-go-roundWhat is it about summer
That holds my attention?
Is it the soldering hurt
When my heart breaks in the night?
But you know, when the sun goes down
Eyes shine bright, you and I could dance
Some alternative blues trance
Keeping the rhythm with our fingertips and lips
It's too hot to quiver through the breast
But I get down with your contrary porn
Cold icecream in the mouth
Thrilling honey fragrance when I inhale
How I hate the dilated summertime
And I hate my saturdays, blue items,
But you hold me so close, so close,
It almost feel real, the dream of you and me
Heavyweight IIIIt is here,
A tempest tormenting with its threshing
A whirlwind drilling into my dermis
Molesting my soul, I feel it in my venter
It purges my chest and lowers
Ravenously, with serpent tongue motion
Scorching, sweeping away my chastity
A fierce force, my every tissue, my veins
It infects with acid desire
Thundering like a summer's passionate storm
It electrifies with heroin ambition
And the aftermath is so sensuous sweet
And evaporates through my hurried breathing
A violent panting
Under my savaged skin
My Unshorted HappinessThe desire grows with each day
I could never get away
Thou are all that I need
To please each other we agreed
Thy body and arms are so strong
To only thee my heart belongs
As thy warmth fills my soul
The hot feeling fills me whole
I can only think of having more
For my pain thy are my cure
Thank thee for hearing my last plea
Soon we will have our baby...!