Licking Fire

The crow’s urgent call

woke me

from my haunted staring

into air and time

bleeding by.

Fits of such a violent melancholy

kept me in a perpetual state

of holding my breath,

waiting for the sorrow to subside

as high tides do

after the ocean’s

been weeping in chorus

with the moon.

Could I not just drift

inside your head for awhile?

Forget my woeful weary,

the horrorshow I’d seen

played out in the daytime.

Mmm though at night,

I watched death and the engulfing fire

that licks her lusty skin,

she flits and twists round,

ripped up fishnets held together

by bobby pins

and a loose t-shirt that fell off her shoulders,

making crop circles

on my clean carpet

with her dirty bare feet.

Between you and me,

she was such a tease,

and I loved it.

After she had her fill of me,

slipping out into the dark,

and just as I was closing my windows,

he snuck in between

my mouthing nighttime syllables,

shaking self loathing,

crawling into my bed after

visitation hours,

and I couldn’t help myself,

craved to hold his shivering bones

together

until the pain he howled out subsided,

his tears drying on my cheek.

We swapped no words,

just breaths and skin,

for that cold boy

who had lost his way,

again,

tossing in the storm

that he blamed me for,

though in truth,

we were just two hurricanes

bumping into each other,

ravenous desire

to feel something,

anything,

besides that dank suffering lonely.

It occurs to me

that I had the habit

of falling for broken angels

sewn up inside

with grit and smoke.

And do you mind?

Stop trampling through

my dreams,

stumbling amidst the scenes,

hungry and impatient.

I beg you for a moment

without your tongue’s wet stutters

gnashing  and lashing out at me.

Twilight took great delight in sinking in between my legs,

just to hear me moan. 

Days of the Heron

In the days

of mumbling saucepans

and sanity,

I was a heron,

drinking down dirty daydreams

and lavender teas,

slurping loudly

through my pointing bill

in coffee shops

while the regulars stare,

squawking out stories

on the subway,

ruffling my

untamed and unframed feathers

like the jostling sounds of newspapers

by the old grey men scrounging round for

the stock market stats

and sports scores.

I tend to creep

in and out of people’s habits,

smuggled in with the groceries:

cinnamon toast and juicy grapefruit,

standing awkwardly

in the cobweb corners of rooms,

watching contagious

interactions,

hearts bleeding in rhythm,

then slip softly

between the window panes of

dark purple bedrooms

with swords hung on the walls,

red dining room spaces

where the piano sits,

uncaressed for years,

yellow kitchenettes

collecting dust on the picture frames

of happy faces by way of trips to the park

on a fourth of july,

and moldy peppers

in the bottom door of the refrigerator.

Oh,

and if I could just

be held by the night,

it sinking in between

my shivers

till the yawning dawn.

I took myself

away from here,

in the eerie morning hours,

after getting out from under purple fleece covers

and giving up on sleeping.

Careful tiptoes,

out the window,

face to the forest line

til she sings in my ear,

into the moon’s naked riptide,

inhaling one beautiful

burlesque breath,

exhaling storms of ice. 

Winter's Smile

Nina Simone

and static rain crackles

from the phonograph speakers.

Between the windows

we float

with the smoke,

licking lips,

the shaking fits of

harmonizing bodies,

giving sex tips to strangers

in the parking lots of liquor stores

while I watch

the future and past

intersect,

skull and crossbones,

lists of predictable chores not done,

lusts for raunchy rhymes unsung,

as of yet,

due to televised hypnosis,

the pyramids in Memphis,

wailing ghosts

on the sidewalk

that you so carelessly pass between,

nods of recognition

between old lovers,

spitting swear words that delved deep inside

the bruised breaks in the pavement.

I washed you down,

lime and tequila,

embracing the luscious night

instead of your warm skin

on my cold veins.

People leaving my life

through thick doorframes,

forgetting their keys

next to coffeepots gurgling and hissing,

humming to themselves in lonely long grocery lines,

opening mouths to speak turbulent truths,

deciding against it,

crunching tight,

teeth to teeth,

crooked jawlines ache

with heartbreak pulsations,

canceling dinner plans

at the last possible second,

flipping through

worn out pictures instead,

just for a chance to recall

my dad’s knowing smile in the winter.

Night Heat

The mist,

our hostess

for the evening,

sang out burning notes,

thirsty chords

stuck at the back of the throat,

were freed,

found wanting,

to pleasure roam the

highlands and hemispheres

of our staggering psyches,

unimpressed by belfry fears.

Temptress night,

I ache to be opened,

commune in voluptuous fire,

sink deep into sultry waters,

wrap the earth around my hips,

air becomes breath,

sucking it down,

between the cracks

in the ethers and

my shrieking skin.

We healed ourselves,

then raptured each other

up and out of this hell plane,

backwards space and sound,

forward in rhythm,

angels in awe of our

magical bodies,

grinding down the

writhing watchtowers,

crunching through

concrete chessboards,

drenching the beats with

sex and sweat,

ecstasy tears,

wailing sirens,

lifting heated heads

to the moon,

bringing in the dawn

with our howls.