implicit in the sage are acts that mark the arrow; they mix deep thought with the shallows, a presence from which he pontificates on life’s time of death. and all at the hands of a language that has quit on him ( Read more... )

I lost my body to remakes: history’s joyless stories were powered by man’s sex-wounds, privates without the pubic sense to originate their own worlds ( Read more... )

horny moths are the pains in the asses of narrow oval ends that remember the ashes on the head of a burned out Christ who was crowned King of the Thistles ( Read more... )

sex eyes feed lips that lie
to live off gain

bare your image on my tongue’s
strong taste for blood-blends

move our lust past its beginnings
until the end comes

flood drops of your candy
in my shame / skin it alive

be the body I know
strangers make words in

manage him but don’t
pay for coming late.

nightly riddles, like a poem’s lines ( Read more... )

She drives stakes into the minds ( Read more... )

Everywhere is a now - waiting. Air sticks ( Read more... )

Nameless givens are granted the right to turn ( Read more... )

did anyone see the past come ( Read more... )

There they were, a couple of kids from Buffalo ( Read more... )