fingers and toes

hands and feet in the silly gallery
humans and creatures of design
alone in a pre-determined universe
that isn't mine hands and feet
darling fingers and toes the knotted
limbs in sultry repose your kisses
gathered by someone's index
and transferred to stars
in a galaxy's far flung open arms
are you careless in love or
were you dreamt in a poem
your hands are unclenched
your feet point to the corners
of this bed the penis in motion
the magic length of things
best left unsaid

deja vu

art and not art the eye
sees you in the morning
limber yet diffuse with
noises still to make and
little unbroken wings
still to break the fingers
scratch and pinch the
alabaster skin red flesh
the animator of desire to taste
the broken shell your pain
now your desire the candle
burnt wax streaking the
smooth white girl flesh
art and not art what
could be the reason for
these tears your brilliant
eyes so wide the thought
of what must come the sudden
torn flesh at her very
heart her hands
flung up above her head
her heels in the air
her split red swollen
torn apart her tender
bottom rose red ready
to be rent open to the
memory of who had done
this once upon a time the
far country the summer
evening the times you
would've thought it all
went well she twists in
his painful revenge her
body impaled for how long
she wonders the strings
of electric hurt and his
raking fingers slapping
her wondrous pink lips
smacking her bud

will it happen
will it happen
will it happen

the hour is rewound
the life is re-lived
her hands find themselves
the fluids course to the sea
my Boy stirs again
deja vu

the dark seas

but the turning moments
open Her door and its wet
in the passage I am provoked
to some sort of ending then
so why do I grasp at
a different ideal? Her voice
makes noise a blanket
covering me

i.
can I see you in the dark seas?
will you conserve these words
in another lifetime? all issues
are terminal and apocalyptic
She knows this and I know this
it is what makes being
into something maybe you
can call it art maybe you can
capture it briefly write it down
or whip up a caricature but what
you can't do is scale it back
scale it down what is the actual
point is it is about everything
it is what makes being interesting

ii.
can I see you in the dark seas?
is this what my death will look like?
kimberly's face receding in
steel gray waters surfaces like
convex mirrors the night neither
day nor dawn yet lit with cold
luminescence as I struggle for breath
can I see you in the dark seas
can I find the air again
can the spark of energy
that represents this one organism
find a way to become a sort
of melody in the violence of
actual change the cells closing
shop the fluids of this version
of me drying in the deepening winds
sent by the great dance of entropy
can I feel the heat of this self
without an engine turning?
where are you my sweet darling?
still on land our child still saying
she loves us she loves us the air
a remunerative currency leaving
yet marking this moment this
heart your's mine our's our girl's
can I see you in the dark seas?
can I find our memory in every life?
can your hands reach out to me
past all these alternate scenes
the trees leafless in this time
the snow threatening today
can I see you when I have gone?
I need to know this
I need to believe this
it keeps me from the sudden
rush of water into the lungs


Some days it is hard to understand that utter disconnect between your digits and your conscious mind. I think I type something, but it turns out to be something else. My mind has never been that all-fired sharp. I've always been a fuzzy thinker, and that probably explains many of the innate losses I have suffered over the years. It's all I can do to keep food on the table and the bills paid, never mind planning for a future I might have.