Posts Tagged ‘words’

[under a cushioned sandal on my feet]

A cherry crushed on the sidewalk

and a chorus of Spanish in the background.

Its flesh softly flattening under the ball of my sandal,

Emitting a sound like the rare puff, or POP of a small

bubblegum bubble

-wilting- but thicker.

Popping like a bubble full of marshmallow fluff and crisp




At the orange line in Chinatown,

every language but English being uttered around me.

Not for lack of English-speakers but perhaps

the English-speakers stay silenced.


Anyway, the cherry POPPED

under my sandal and gave way to a subdued explosion.

That deep, mauve-ish moody color

a melody

rich treachery and indulgence spreading out beneath it in a heavy ink cloud of nectar,

swilling with the July rain.

A stem, strong and capped,

reaching, angle-stretching forth –

Standing strong like a sword above the speared carnage of the body of the bleeding fruit.

A crimson cadaver.

Fresh. Flesh.

Sweetening and saddening its cool, sopping and indifferent basement of cement.

Spanish floating all around

– song for this romantic war scene.

A gloried, sorrowed death.

Read Full Post »

Blotchy Spots

I’ve got a strange sweat starting and my insides are cheese. Processed white pasteurized American cheese, the forced chemical kind that never comes in a wheel. Never full circle – too many skipped steps.

My face isn’t my face. There’s a clog in the bathroom sink. I don’t want to wear makeup don’t want to wear makeup today I want to keep the flaws, cradle, and hold them gently but I have a feeling I won’t have the strength. Today.

Read Full Post »

Happy Equinox itsmagick.

e-qui-nox [ee-kwuh-noks]

– noun

1. the time when the sun crosses the plane of the earth’s equator, making night and day of approximately equal length all over the earth and occurring about March 21 (vernal equinox or spring equinox) and September 22 (autumnal equinox).

Read Full Post »

Man in the Bookstore

This man’s energy is so subtle and subdued its almost difficult to find and it remains contained of mine. This man’s a damp, cool-ish washcloth with soft lining bristles and terry hem. His eyes smile disproportionately to the rest of him. What a soft, contained and explained railroad man. On track, on time, softly hooting into quiet closing wildflowers and bathed in velvet evening. Four stars and an unblinking moon strung on above by plastic thread like undetected fishing wire. Soft hooting, gentle nudging of air molecules in a slow ripple that sways nighttime petals.

Chugging. As a millipede stretches and scoots with measured, natural, belabored ease of efforts. Multicolored Halloween spines and sticky with grass pellets clinging to the tiny hairs.


Such delicacy and protein. Where is the breath?

Read Full Post »

Can’t Title It.

Mark insults words, taking them for granted.

Words, glorious words

and I realize they’re like kin to me. An incestuous lover.

Words are the cousin I romped with in the barn,

hay in the crack of my ass and skin tingling against the scrape of peeling splinters and mars rust

from bent nails just holding

Tinkling out of the wall with a light breeze or the catch of curling, lust-moistened hair.

The clatter of a paint pail, the wheeze of intaken breath in patterns of centralized, circular pleasure

clit clit clit clit

hit hit hit hit hit a dull thud against these sturdy crumbling walls [the dust hanging down between rafters and sunbeams]

grasping, swinging from these old tool hooks and scraping us to bleeding with ecstasy

smearing on the floor, mixing in with the dirty dust animal feces ground there from boots, hooves, and years

Words are gasping against beads of sweat forming on raised follicles

Words are tonguing my ear seductively

running fingertips on areolas which bump in response

Words have stubble and act ROUGH.

Words stare me down. Unabashedly from across the long picnic table. Past paper plates of chicken and pink lemonade in a picture like a Chinet commercial.

These dagger eyes sending ‘lectric in my direction, flying over open faces, laughing eyes of our relatives.

Words stare unabashedly, corn dangling from chin and hands wet with lickin’. Our aunts and our uncles gabbering on so ignorant of the thrush creeping up from my breast, pink over my collar bones.

“I knowed what I done was wrong.”

me and words in that creaking, must-filled barn.

But I love words the way I love that incestuous cousin

Purely, hotly, dirtily


Read Full Post »



1. a tall, thistle-like composite plant, Cynara scolymus, having pinnately divided leaves and large discoid heads of bluish flowers. The numerous scalelike bracts and receptacle of the immature flower head are eaten as a vegetable. Native to the Mediterranean region.

2. the large, rounded, closed flower head itself.

3. Jerusalem Artichoke.

Also called Globe Artichoke (for defs. 1 and 2)

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts