July 2012

	July 2012 Twits Storing Sorrow Anima Hydrolysis First Dawn Amputation The Tock of Time Visiting Hours Euclid Days As Empty as My Own Candelabra	Twits Some cry between phrases in re-hashed tweeted tears, dried blood on texted pages, lifelines cauterized vessels seared in flagrant verbal fires, in the briefest savage contempt. Some moan some conspire some reach for deities. Some cry just so we know they are there. Most revel in their freedom to be a total ass.
Storing Sorrow Savoring things on my ragged tongue the simple flavors lemon vanilla cane, the complex carnal textures of you the Seven Hills air raked maple leaves, decaying hydrangea’s in Miss Farnum’s yard Craving things lest my face forget them buried in ice cold fur a shuttle at McMurdo Station your thighs clasped - a vice in a risen again carnal kiss a deep breath at the summit of Olympus Mons your head upon my breast - the clock ticking to our hearts Pocketing Is that what squirrels do? special nuts, succulent seeds resisted buried their ripeness lost to be excavated treasures We should have eaten in our prime savoring not craving sipping and gulping in mighty quaffs not pocketing for the taste of vapor remains	Anima Hydrolysis Soul tinder caught ignited in a flash of proton hydrogen on the hips of dimensional oxygen spread, her chemical kindling bonding oozing dripping into our oral sea wet sensual… water.	First Dawn The sun rose in our window, lingering as if observing us… saying it approved, that this meeting of the skins, this global conference of grins, was worth a bother, its arrogant solar nod. Air fell from the sill in a schoolboy’s rush to meet his cheeky girl, the one with the mauve piqued cheeks. It fell upon us with its coarse bristle of mink raising our forests with soothing whispers that wheedles its way across the peaks of nipples deep into and through the eiderdown.
Amputation I felt the pull the teeth of your first blade then the push the cut the bone torn bleeding to dust threshed into exsanguine chaff a residue of us in a clotted drift upon the floor. I felt you reach into your heart and try to rip to wrench me out of you, a delicious sickness you wish would die. I’m sorry my love. I never wanted this for you. I only wanted splendor not a tawdry guarantee, a nirvana with grins and our naughty dark surprise.	The Tock of Time I know… It is astounding how this world of water and light unfolds. I know… it is awesome how the mind can see things we only imagined were truly here. I know… it is astonishing how love curves space and desire can breathe the Tao of stars and silences the tock of time.	Visiting Hours I await my visitors on this empty stage of weave. cursive stragglers possessive pronouns tasty adjectives scruffy orphaned nouns little scrawls come at first looping Ls and hangdogs Fs their serifs so elegant, lonely overdressed amidst the bully of vowels. Soon a gaggle of phrases hold hands we fall to prey on the Subject Understood, for the Object of the pious preposition. Visiting hours are over and what a trail they’ll leave. some days most times if the syntax has been playful, what remains is poignant, and kind.
Euclid Days Have you had salt water taffy from Euclid Beach? Seen her Fat Lady laugh and belly roll bellow and echo behind the cosmic glass? Scared the shit out of me at five. Have your swung out into the velvet night on starships of silver held by the frailest of wire? You were not yet born, a germ still dreaming an idea still squirming in your daddy’s loins. You were not but a starling’s greed, a sparrow sipping at an eagle’s teat, still a dreamer like me calling out to our sirens… earth, sea, and Euclid skies.	As Empty as My Own One could be a warrior in this light a shining example of valor or a victor poised to take the spoils in this grandeur of gold and gilt peach rose. One could be a dreamer, a lover, toasted as a Captain, hailed as successful in this light, this coral crescent falling into blueberry arms. One could be so alone in this splendor a sea away from their heart the light in their window just winking out the candle snuffed, arms as empty as my own.	Candelabra Came a back street calling curling luminous fingers at me her devil in the detail of a smile in a word said sideways in a flat out splash of hot wax on my chest in my ears my tongue twitching lips lightly too tightly bitten my ego brightly smitten by this raw attention this rough edged purr from the thoughts of a prowling thee.