warm of sleep

Position the knife, tip in

It slides and falls, slip in and

Slice. The effortless line

Drips and glistens, splits in two.

Look inside of the tender body,

Organs just as gorgeous as the skin.

Lady’s flower lifts a rosy petal,

Peachy colors bloom, fade to yellow

And leafy green.

Tongue meets the juice,

Teeth slide in with ease, teeth streak

Down the buttery rind.

Sucking on the core, so creamy,

It melts away, swift. Insatiable sweetness.

Misty juices release from the

Second bite. Clear and pure

Aroma drifts through the breath,

Reduces down to nothing more.

Glistening green skin

Curls with an empty belly,

While mine is full.

Marmalade jar, rolling on the soiled ground

Emptied through tongue and gut,

I bury my fingers in your sticky splendor,

You colored my sallow skin as I swallowed.

Pick these children from my skin

Like berries on the vine,

Spritz a musky juice, broken berries.

No more juice, I want wine and I want flesh.

Climb across the table and bite this animal

Whose fearful eyes still hang wide,

No, I don’t need to sing no song, no siren call,

I climb the mountain of flesh and

Lick the sweet syrup

Off of the screaming red meat

I’ll scream in the face of Lucifer.

Take a sledgehammer to his heart,

And drink the rush; it kicks me in the head

Kicks me in each layer of my skin

Into an ocean of wonderful sensations

Soft tides of tissue, eyelash kisses,

Pulpy, full bellies.

I’ll rise from these waters,

Magnetically drawn to the heavens,

Feeling enlightened, but baby, this isn’t holy.

When Virgin Marry was caught with a baby

In her bleeding hands

Prancing around her sins, crazily

The ring neck doves were all laughing

Along, because they know she’s no innocent chick

Innocence must have gallop away

With the first filthy plate of dewy meat

Sweet treats of lip, tongue and dick,

A fabulous meal for the scavenger.

Ida wore the colors of a cloud.

Never a word did she speak out loud.

She wished to look grey and rainy like a storm,

No other little girls were so intentionally forlorn.

She had little sallow eyes, and whimpering replies.

On many afternoon’s Ida’s fun would go awry,

She’d attempt to drink the lye,

On a kitchen shelf, so high,

But fall off the stool every time she tried

She went to her room, but did she ever come back?

She played all day with marbles and tacks

But ignored the nocks on her door each day

For she was too busy will lonely play

Her father lay upon the creaking floor

And mumble through a crack in her door,

Ida, dear, soft and sweet

Won’t you come out for a bite to eat?”

But dear little Ida hid under the sheets,

With only specks and crumbs to eat.

Her family assumed she had withered away,

For they never saw Ida after that day.

I wake up in the fog and hear the pleasant rumble

Staying in the sheets, to enjoy before I rustle

I finally rise; I look out the window, and all is dry,

It’s only morning thunder

Clean white birch with peeling paper bark

Stands erect against the dripping trees

And no life droops with sadness, they know

It’s only morning thunder

And here I sleep beneath the storm,

Beneath the leafs, within the warmth

And how I love to see the sky, imbued with blue

Ce matin est pluviex

Mr. Jasper perched so still,

Right upon the window sill.

I run my finger along your wing,

I turn away and stop to hear you sing,

But softness stales,

No cooing

Trails.

Whisper softly, tell me so,

Before you fly through Marie’s eye,

Tell me why they sing at night

Why do some birds sing at night? And

Frightful branches rustle with the

Wind.

Honeys, bumbles, bees wings fly, lying

Sickened, first frost bite,

Freight trains, spilling,

Blame the conductor, constructor,

He’s lost the wheels, the feet, the heels.

Have god’s clouds fallen to my feet,

Lost their breath, and sleeping still.

This room is filled with fog for now,

The emptiness is fogging crowds.

This fog is deep you sleep and still

Perched upon the window sill.

Milk.
My milk and honey, sweet red syrup and tea,

Gentle grip of tiny fingers, on my clusters, crystallize

In sticky waxes, their honeyed hives, release of bees,

Dewy the prick, a pleasant tick , red speckled,

The milk that cooks and drips it clean, in bowls of balmy water,

Softening the stagnation, melting the cream,

The process of milking, cleaning,

Jelly fish, octopus, full in their pocket, leaking in strings

Warm from their weeks of sleep.

Into the bath of a blue tea,

Exhaling an air as clean as it came.

Poster i made for my bird's band.

To his home afloat, in the opaque air of dusk,

Beside the dip of dewy wooden spoons.

Over the edge of the stern, not even a drip

On the wood before noticing my foreign face 

And the site of these salty riches

Sailor’s insipid stare moistens, 

His brow bends and thickens a tinge.

Wonder falls from the waterline of each eye,    

I flood to his face, and sponge his cheeks,

Dolor:
Stimulation, force,
Like the wet paint of a solid red circle.
The muscles of my heart, my breast bone and the covers on top
all rise and fall with the same rapid pace.
I lay straight with my eyes straight.
I hick-up from the sore cry
Trying to climb past my restless breath.

Tears stream down into my ears.
I can hear a child tugging on my insides.
She hides behind my stomach,
Embracing it.
She is damp, weeping.
All her black tears fill my stomach.
In my throat I can feel her calling up to me,
So I swallow her words.
Inside, she strikes and grabs my throat.

The blood is rushing to my face, all i feel is
Fever,
The tension,
The fullness in my head.
Where do i put my hands?
My hands are limp and loose.
My mid section- hard and feels held by a force,
It squeezes all the contents of my belly
Into my head.

Oh dolor,
It's so beautiful outside your room.