Sunday, February 3, 2019

ghosts

no refunds

get dressed
the midway joker
tells a firefly
(looks at the clock)
words self inflicted
coming back to the ground
and the snow at the carnival
a firefly is getting dressed
spinning outside the
narrative of ghosts
drizzling champagne
on lonely streets
frostbitten black stockings
ruined on a treadmill

you heard it wrong
you admit but no refunds
on self inflicted words


over at the carnival
a firefly is getting dressed

untitled #66

faded denim peeling away
from your indifferent body
shades of smoke caress
a lightbulb dangling naked
from the ceiling liquid voices
gamble with your pale orange 
day and there are neon
promises they flirt with
brown paper bags and
behind his mask you
cannot see the shaman's
wicked grin

now you drink the water
what else can you do



the table

a whisper through bones
of stone and paper
words naked shivering
in the broken light

your flesh trembling you
touch the blisters on a
leather hero with your
latex gloves through a 
window that knows no 
shame
                            and
you watch the wind
steal flecks of truth from
stories you no longer
remember telling

you take your place at
the table  (logic is optional
you are told) so you hide 
your blisters and let your
naked words shiver in
the broken light



untitled #73

curious about the cries
of hungry seagulls a
dog wanders into
a graveyard
from fog dripping halos
of pale streetlights
brief moments dark
and moist emerge
and settle on the asphalt
of indifferent streets
such is the chaos of
shattered fairytales

you own this story
it is yours but now
fall silent the cries
of hungry seagulls

(earlier)
a pair of socks
call them mismatched
if you must but all
they really are
are just two socks
one striped the other not





callback

your sighs lie hot
on my pillow but
do not worship
them          they
are blindfolded
and arrived here only
recently( a betrayal
of the dolls)   in
a place where lies turn
to dust and the need
to answer the telephone
is
not
urgent and where you listen
to sand tickling
 your brain  ( a
betrayal of style)  you
want to buy
a candle why i
ask  ( a
betrayal of dance)


brides

on the marble floor they dance
t'is where angels fear to tread
between the empty pews they rest
and drink from broken glasses
the cathedral  hiding in the moonlight
habits undone the nuns who sinned

then ascends the choir
in sunlight dazzling
glory on their lips
and moisture on their thighs
and on their tongues
the whispers of sweet surrender

between the empty pews they dance
and on the marble floors
their darkened souls betrayed

lucifer's brides

sandals

skeletons escaping the ritual you
unfold like a map while

a fanfare of desires
cascades down a ferris wheel
 you repeat the ritual
at the laundromat a
prism of doorknobs ignites
other plans
you repeat the ritual
then you listen to
the mystical sound of a
floor being swept on
the map brittle sighs play
dominos in the fog
you repeat the ritual



promises

of lost ships and naked sailors
i dream
amid paintings and sculptures
stillborn
you and i (we) dance
fireworks pierce the sky
darkened by chances lost
you remove your
disappointed body from mine
to get a (another) drink
your high heels click
and clack
towards promises we
made long ago and
didn't know we couldn't keep



in my shoes

in the fog
borderline
jump on ice
jump on ice
put on the
red velvet jacket

jump on
              ice
in the fog

fog in my cup
fog in my head
fog in my shoes
borderline fog

jump on ice
jump on ice
in my red
velvet jacket



359 sweep

spend some time
with a ghost
skin
read the words
the words
and get one free
now we must
be patient
for there is no
one to embrace

you can talk all
you want
it all comes
down
to this
you want to be
forgiven
i want to be unborn
you watch a woman
bathing
i listen to the
sighs and
fill the page with
shapes dark
and unfamiliar

pull up a chair



unfinished (again)

ice breath on flesh
look at me
naked and raw
splashing ghosts
across my face
give back my
broken body
there
are places
you mustn't go
candy fire and a
green kiss

you travel light
i know
no need to tell
me again

Saturday, February 2, 2019

sunday dinner

sunday dinner


a chorus of upside down
shadows
tossed through
a shattered and bleeding
window
(there is a picture for every
frame even
one that is broken)
as sunday dinner
fades to a
ketchup stain
a chorus of upside down
shadows
dances on plastic water and
yesterday's windmills
lie twisted and
helpless in
the darkness of your
broken day


glimmer

glimmer on the heap
is where i
stumble
and lie or
imagine climbing
a hill
or
or
waiting  for the whales
forgotten about me
in
a black coat
where i stumble
reading instructions
are
lies
standing in water
kneedeep
looking at the glimmer
on the heap
listen         no really
listen
and smell where you've
been
is dark

symmetry untitled #18

symmetry

your phone rings
while you
are inside the blonde
you met at
last night's party
too much mascara but
i won't say nothing
your sticky scent chasing
other dreams barley's
rotting in your
fucked up brain they
blow bubbles
in the cemetery down
the street
still
there are eleven minutes
of perfect symmetry
and your blistered
fingers
reach to touch
the truth even
though you know the
truth is soiled and
unsymmetric


again


looking
to trade you
climb
stairs and pass
by a doll with no
arms
lying in a doorway
and you wonder if
you have found it
you make up a
story
about a pith helmet
eyes blink mouths
open
and you realize you
never thought trading
was this difficult you
pass by the doll
with no  arms
lying in a doorway




untitled #18

its winter
(white almost)
eyelashes abandoned
on a foggy bench are
they yours or mine
you look
perfect in that
costume
we eat grilled cheese
sandwiches at two in the
morning and laugh
hysterically
at
a funny movie you
look perfect
in that naked
costume
then an acrobat arrives
holding a pair of
worn leather shoes

outside they are
waving flags and no one
knows why
you look perfect in
that costume

the mirror untitled #37 the hollow

untitled #54

erasable vessels
spilling the
sound
of displaced
clouds
searching the lost
and found
for
 an empty voice
in a parade
of illusions
the
confusion
of recognition
in dreams
found
but never lost

the bridge

the trainstation
that was random
the bridge on the other
hand
i must admit was
not
a passenger in
a uniform of long red
hair and a cigar unlit
the wooden obstacles
untouched
afraid to be with your
own skin you
surrender to a run-away
stuffy
addicted to cosmetics
the melting light breaks
a dying song
and you imagine a
passenger in a uniform of
long red hair
and a cigar unlit on
a bridge somewhere






the mirror

you ask me where
i keep the know
you
abandoned in the ashes
the wind laid at
your feet
be poetic you say with
your usual flair but
keeping the know is not
poetic
you tremble as you try
breaking the mirror
that won't let
you see what
you have seen
you ask me where i keep
the know you
abandoned
amid taunting burgundy
stains
be poetic you say
but keeping the know is
not poetic



untitled #37

stepping barefoot through
puddles
blues strumming through
my head
houses grey and white
passing by gates of
silver and gold
it ain't done
if you still feel
the cold
i been here before
but i was raw and bitter
then
three o'clock in coloured
paper
and memories turn to ice
the scent of an embrace
quietly slipping out the
door
as lights dance in and out
from here to there and
in between passing
through gates of
yellow straw and
make believe

on pg 16 i begin to stutter



the hollow

a puppet naked
with a necklace
(the reasons don't matter)
in an unwritten book
a lone cello
sleeps on the moon's
swollen belly
(again the reasons don't matter)
ice skeletons
on frozen windows
dying a dripping death
as a fire swallows
another log
on
a wooden table
an empty peanut
butter jar with a
silver spoon inside
no sound from
the puppet just
unseeing eyes
staring blankly
into the hollow


untitled #53

the night is rehearsed
translated into naked
desire
in the mirror human
bleakness bleeds
through a lace curtain
beyond the sound of
your breathing and
the scent of
candles once
playful and solemn now
drifting towards
the stillness of nothing
is there a portal your
desire hasn't entered
the night is rehearsed
the naked regret forgotten.

cacao and steam

cacao

scattered scars leaking
from a pin-up
calendar
try the door one more time
it crumbles
dissolving your reality
in
an undulating
sea of abandoned truths
regret is fondled
briefly before you
step into a garden
of SPLINTERED
algorithms
you wake up
the dreams
that spin on broken
turn tables
soft
softly
is this the hour?
.......the date........?
........the year.......?

you dismissed the sun

why?





steam

you play the
disposable games
of pleasure
in the ashes
of
transformation
you write the message
of isolation
amidst the
dunes
of naked sand
washing drinking water
as a camera
clicks a
1000 times a minute


untitled #61

dancing thru
the ice of a drummer
on the moons of your
drunken eyelids

photographs of
empty streets
                       (you disappeared but never were here in the first place)
fading like water
on a buddha board
you drown in bubbles
of make believe while
the thirsty masks
of your solitude
disintegrate into
submission and
ecstasy

you always go to bed
later than you planned


the contract

butterflies in the bathtub
no, wait
I am in the bathtub
the butterflies are on
the moon
dancing
waving at the butterflies
dancing on the moon
i am in the bathtub
toes sticking out
the water
i will paint my nails
tomorrow i
promise
but first i want to
fly a kite and
climb a tree
the camera you are holding
captures me at 15
oh look
the butterflies are waving back

a super 8 projector
is whirring but
no one is watching anymore
and there are no butterflies
dancing on the moon
there never were

between the trees
they keep the grass
short it is
in the contract
i signed

midnight

midnight

the sound coming from
the radio is not
in sync with the
frankincense stalking
the room
taped to the door
is a b/w photograph
of several half-eaten
cakes

someone is looking to buy
midnight

the sound coming from
the radio
embraces the air
which melts in
my hands
dripping between my fingers
to the floor
where it copulates
with the light
from a lantern

chocolate eyes and
a mouthful of cherries

around the corner
i am told
there is a place
where
midnight is bought and sold



in the garden

in the garden
where you spilled upon
this earth
you gave
them the scent
of darkness
and the crescendo of
your loins
climb into our cloud of
tears
they said
and when you
travel pack the wounds
of loss
and the darkness
of your heart curse
the pain
that will not heal
and the heart
that cannot feel
in the garden
in the garden
a rainbow
drumming in the
sand
in the garden
green flames
soothe a burning
rose
in the garden a pregnant
moon travels
from stone to stone
dripping wax on
unsuspecting
toilet paper
cathedrals



magicians


untitled #8

silence

then
a hoarse whisper
a tourist waiting
for a scar

a tourist
flesh and bone

scattering the dark smell
of where scars are born


silence



untitled #9

the sun is trembling
on this
a circus afternoon
a giraffe is laughing
and magicians
will be appearing
soon
they will jingle and curse
and dance around
the breasts of nuns
heaving in rousing
glory

along the waterfront
i smell spices and rope

you tell me about days
you insist
nothing happened
but your
memory is twisted and
depraved
even the giraffe is
laughing no more
it's the halleluya song
and loins
in holy rapture
is this
where i went wrong?
i saw the nuns
i saw them naked
and the sun
was trembling


magicians' blood

they just wanted to be naked
the dolls
and what is anatomically
correct anyway
dolls lying in the street bleeding
the street
bleeding dolls
you want to taste the dolls
bleeding in the street
tasting magicians' blood
at the carwash
after the dolls
escaped their cages
the dolls
seeping into the
streets
reaching for the stains
in anatomically correct
magicians