sometime in 2007

dIvAs At dAwN iN lOuIe’S lAnD

this is the tale of two fifty-five in the morning;
there is no sleep.

he is lying on my bed:
his eyes are squeezed shut.
the sheets are rough–
he is squirming and
there are fingertips teasing his vagina;
its juice is staining the air he sucks in.

he is moaning rather like a G.i.r.l
as he reaches the only high cocaine can’t give,
and the sweat on his (cocked) brow tastes like

tastes like breezes stolen
from the Gulf of Mexico on a hot night.

his vagina is moist
(his pussy is wet),
and I am listening as he sings me lullabies
while I torture his libido effectively
with the tip of my sugared tongue


eulogy: wasted words

my body’s a temple with me trapped inside
and i’m an uncomfortable bumpy kinda ride

they chased off my kind with pine branches and sticks they called incense
but honestly it smelled like shit when it was over;
no one came to worship at my red altar
there’s too much about me i’d like to alter– change– rearrange

shit this goes nowhere, just like my life.

I can’t see the end and now not even the liquor’s my friend;
it took a vacation and hallucinations stopped coming when I did.
look at what I did!
nothing, you tell me, you’re nothing-at-all
and i sit by the phone waiting for a wake-up call
from a god that to me won’t ever exist
(poor mama, she cultivated an atheist)

and I’m an uncomfortable bumpy kinda ride
my body’s a temple with me trapped inside

I committed suicide by poem,
impaled on brass tacks (always frugal);
my obituary’s an index card with gum on the back


bring me to another day, ambrosia;
lift me, golden drops in crystal chalices
held between my limp fingers after the fight is over–

broken gasps and beads of sweat my crowning glory
as I swim among the mammoth pink disgusting elephants
trotting one-two toward sweet escape;

floating on nothing/drifting alone,
blinded and comforted by amber in my glass
burning a trail down my throat to where I need it most.

and all the horrid sickness of my slow euthanasia
commemorated in prayers to porcelain founts
before I reach for another smoky bottle to begin the trip again

smoke and mirror lock.down

“i am sorry;

i never meant to hurt where you could see it

but sometimes it bursts-splits the seams and”

hold out your hand,  hold out your hand i will carry you

“cannot be held in human hands– it spills forth,”

come back to me

“fluid and acid sweet from lips, and tongue, and eye, and ear, and hands that push at doors

heedless of spl/i/n/ters which we extract painstakingly with ease”

hold out your hand
(sometimes it’s all better unknown)

“i never meant to
bleed where you could smell it;

and I apologize if i tripped

on your knife and the blood landed on your new shirt i simply could not control myself and”

please love, don’t be scared

“now i must take my leave.”