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I Am Part Of The Night
It is always the moon whispering with foul breath to me, while stars drip like bad oil paint, chips in a perfect, black sky. The sun doesn’t say anything. It just sits in its place, waiting for the day...
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Diamonds
She is fierce perfection, parallel to the sky, matching rock for rock. The sky’s diamonds sparkle for her and we stomp on her beauty, each day, yet she is soft leather under our ignorance. They talk...
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Stones
Stone clouds tell her story. Today was dry before grey stomped over head. I wish I was her. She reminds me how to cry like my pupils are perfect moons, ten thousand drops on the prick of every sharp...
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Then He Asks Me For A Prayer
it won’t be long the Japanese death garden sings wildly across the world I whistle back, a soft. black tune and lose my eyes to winter I sleep with her on desperate nights, her hard skin teaches me...
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The Death Of Roses
He’s splashing in cyanide tonight, elbow deep in death grease, peeling it off long enough to shout his love at me. My bed is empty like this, I lay here, empty, like this, sipping on his poisonous...
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They Try To Erase Me
I never had been born. It was old hands that sketched my frame. Hands that knew how to suffer wisely. It was a gift to my bones, a curse that shifts with weight and time. Clocks wait on scales to tip...
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Whiskey Breath
First greet is at seams that thread life to life. She blossoms fresh blue, nervous laughter sifts through her eyes. Not me. I am fog thick of red rage, a fire smoldered by hard smoke hiatus, stoned...
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The Fury Sisters
This desert is muddy today, rats scamper under fury. Little girls chew off November toes. They kneel in provocation, stretched t-shirt over back yard fences. Dogs bark like bitches, I count them – they...
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The Sun Chases The Moon
I spend a thousand blinks on old memories. Each taste like cocaine broken teeth, pressing truth against my cheek, a cold shock like this one – crying on the beach, sleeping in empty sea shells. My...
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How To Sleep In A Gutter When You’re Not Dead
Curl up raw, stranger. Where is your husband’s thick pockets? You must be one of those different colours. I’m dead on my feet, you’re sleeping in the gutter. Five days in February – we both struggle....
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