Crockpot

I was three ~
he
was fifteen

Cold chrysanthemums,
dead and dried, thin
and crisped by my thumb
into a fine silken powder;

the sooty remains of you
cling to my skin like rain
and fall

floating

through the air …

silhouette hovers
in shadows of moonlight;
lover’s voice comes

clothes cautiously,
carefully,
slip softly

fan blows,
breeze bites at my skin,
waves of sheet suck me under

my arms…

Oh Moon, my Moon,
tripping the sky,
slash me with thy wicked tongue—
teach me, make me fly!

Oh Moon, my Moon,
with thy burnished glow,
mock the sun (its awakening, slow)
then laugh th…

"Tomorrow, when you die, I
won’t be there."

With my ear pressed against
the cool wall of death,
a hugging calm
settles over my body.
You all stand around
looking
full of fear.
One steps forward
with a quiet no,
bug eyes.
At the…

Her flesh bled black
and red, raw, singed scraps
of meat for me
and you

sit smug and smile down
at the heaps of heads
and parts that once had names
but now they all just look the same …

a junk pile
of old
rusted leaves
t U m b l e s
through the alley
like dead skins
on
fire

Big mouth never closes,
gulping air to chew the words-
hole in my face gapes open,
a nest of chattering birds.
Spittle runs bubbly
down rivers wide and deep-
glazy eyes hide
secrets I …

Your poetry blues sing over me
like wet kisses nipping my neck

slow jazz dances
all through my head,

dripping warmly
down my back

like honey
m e l o d i o u s l y
tugging at my b…

For when I die,
my corpse cold and blue,
I have a favor
to ask of you.
If there’s no need in this world
for the thing you call my heart,
cut me open wide
and take out that part.
Make a …

That night it happened, home, when Mom and Dad
had gone out for a while, it came. The house,
our home, was cold and quiet, too… so… strange…

And I so small (and like a doll) was lai…

All the elements have,
at some time, been my lover—
I, whore to earthly things,
I love all that suffer…

all but the sun, too bright.
The sun, too in-your-face,
I like darkness, subtl…

Long, slim bones
scratch tracks down my
bare, powder-white back.

Strange, hollow knuckles crack
for want of blood
and make popping sounds
like distant fireworks.

My lilting eyelids t…

I.
These pajamas
are just like the ones
I had when I was three-
permanent press cotton,
thin and cool-
perfect for those
summer nights
when it’s not
quite hot enough
to turn on the…

Passing the cup
from one to the next,
each convulsing hand
touches my blood to his lips.

On down the line,
to each starving soul,
the cup travels
as its supply grows thin.

From my p…

Let me be the arcane angel
atop the tree outside your room—
hang me high from its branches
so that I darkly dangle
in the face of the bone colored moon.
Watching my ghostly dances
from y…

That’s just me:
a hungry
poet
wannabe
with daisies
on my mind
and how to save the world
scribbled on a scrap of napkin
stuffed into my empty pocket.

So what-the-fuck
do I know.

…

I know not why I live for love—
I only know I do.
One thousand loves
I could dream of
and only one that’s true.
That soul will die a thousand times
to prove its love to you;
what no ot…