June 2013

	June 2013 In short … Watchful My Branch of Decay Kiss of Silences Rape Daybirth Skin Both Sides Now Kestrel Remains	In short ... Crisp the last of your words Brief the dalliance the empathy expressed Gorged are my ears with your silence Raw the sunrise left to rise on our bones.
Watchful gratitude is dew on a blossom, a renegade color in a wet flannel day. forgiveness is a silence uttered in softer air a tension released into the sheets or a breath misplaced on your skin. I saw you love me again. jaws at ease tender light lying in the corners of the room. dew gathered on my brow.	My Branch of Decay I had an great aunt Edwina she farted like a slaughterhouse on an August afternoon. great fetid velvet burps neath miles of dander and dingy silk. She had my great niece Ezraline she won the burping contest as the Franklin County fair last May. a mighty wonder of gaseous spew. We have no hope for little Bilious, a duodenum challenged boy. He prefers to carbon trade. We took away his matches.	Kiss of Silences Listing I staggered stumbling to breathe to reach your lips to pull your heart into my shattered ears. You mumbled pursed - clenching a litany of silence, their dark pouty kiss breaking my heart, sealing our tomb.
Rape ~ If you are Calling to report a Rape please press… Surely call the police, but call the medics for her heart. call those that will mourn for the tears of her loins, that great renting of her spirit, the mighty rip of her faith, the great gash that runs from her trust of the world. Surely call the lawyers and councilmen, the street Captains, but also the boyfriends, the husbands, the fathers, the one’s that need to catch her fall from their grace. Call the counselors, the seamstresses - the stitchers, the healers, and the priests. Most of all call her hero not victim, call her martyr not statistic nor casualty of time and place.	Daybirth breathless, straddling the quiet first pause… lake to sky breath to reflection chaos still pregnant in the black green hiss. the birth muffled as a gasping of mimes.	Skin envelope shield barometer sylvan nerves on a plane. skin hectares of forests dense patches of jungle deforested, depilated, laid to tingling bare. foreskin pigskin redskin combination skin pink skin black skin melanin rampant or absent basal or squamous endothelial - etherial dewy, glowing what great bags of vain dermis we are.
Both Sides Now I wring pixels and serifs from my left hemisphere turning the vise until the critic moans. I grew up in a great plains house. white clapboards black shingles brocade on the overstuffed chairs ivy choking the living room walls, a window seat in every room. A cellar full of nooks and old grease where I hammered rolls of caps until my ears grew muddy, deliciously concussed. It held an attic of decades, hulking steamer trunks with great silver buckles and moldy quilted drawers that must stick at all times. I’d wring echoes and music from my right hemisphere. I turned up the cranial volume to drown out their venom, the doors slamming the rattles on the walls. I was Wild Thing. I was Great Balls of Fire.	Kestrel as a kestrel preening talons honed on diatoms and slate, you savor the prey in me. I surrender it, proffering it piece by piece, the darkest meat, the closest to the bone. as you plummet locked, every juice at full heat I split you… mid-flight, pinning your wings neck snapped back tail arched in compliance… panting clipped useless at the base of our cage.	Remains Passion lives in the cracks of the floors in the overstuffed chair that holds the scent the detritus of time and skin. It lives in the light that spilt from the opening door where footsteps lingered, crunches on gravel, the trail to the post. on the trail back in. the path across her sad gray eyes.