1.  winter

blue kisses on my neck
twisting your salty arrows in

his trembling sweetness
memories kissing torn flesh

frozen Phoebus loved me
the foamy springtime of his youth

fumbling in the room
tear out the last murmur

of the sullen fool's heart

2.  meduse

marshmallow on my tongue
she's on the phone again
so lovely to be cruel
freezer burnt hearts
killing flowers in the dark again
burn the colours in my side
leave noir
wake me with your silence
the idiot downstairs

3.  Elita

I thought you knew.
your blond diversion pushed is well,
some green tasting seed
blowing in my direction
twisted though the seams.

you said it's all in my head,
just an inch below the belt.
too many thick girlfriends
in razored poppy red
for any foil glazed boy to survive.

it amazed me in small rooms,
you'd sit across from yourself
and clutter her empty skull
with passive laments
of the rotten flesh I told you not to kiss
and the tinged poison I told you not to drink.

and there you stare at me
with a distant moan
in those widened flushing eyes
and await some murmured sweet response
to your lightning seeded kick.

and yes I pacify your farced insensibility,
fanning you with the last cigarette left.
but you forgot that there is a flint in my eyes too
and a milky flaying fire held slightly,
under my tongue.

good catholic girls dying before the mirror
you keep tripping on that glassy path
the one that I've only seen angels scale
virginesque whores keep their legs crossed in mass
something safe for the prayerbook.

I've already given you all my marble cloaked secrets.
so why does my nakedness pick at your swift skin
go now and leave the killing to my reddened muse
she's already here prying my ears open

she's so slight and heaving,
likes telling me what I'll always want
and never have,
likes grinding sweet salt in my bloodless flesh.

4.  siren

there is no silence in your shut mouth
  only fire
  sometimes I ponder it
  who put it there
  who scraped it red
  and made hate easy
  hating the only lovely fool left

  and I think you finally killed it
  one swift blow
  one silver kick
  now what?

  I am not sorry anymore
  how could I be
  I have worn that out
  I would choke on it if I tried
I think I did
and this new blue laughing
  some formality
  some pelted echo in my throat

  sometimes I am the dirt under your temple
  ugly and sullen Parnassus
  but still horizontal
  and weighted
  and pushed
  and there

  but sometimes it amazes
  how you kill the one who worships you
  how you spit on praise and agreement
  like nasal declarations of foreign tongues

  your skin is so thick and fierce
  it is marble
  but why do you not see
  mine lays thin and dry
  blooded and fresh

  I am a rusted nail
  no one can use me now

  I once wondered at your annoyance
  but now I know

  you were right
  you always are

  and I wish I listened to you now
  wish I believed your slight tongue
  if I heeded you my arms would have run red
  I would have an earthy box of my own

  but you beat me to the deed

  I am open now
  you pried it out
  the fever stopped burning
I am a winded shell
  something is gone

  but I still adore your form
  you have never been wrong
  and that is perfect

  it astonishes
  how serene your anger can be
  it is almost angelic
  and your Artemisian voice
  it stings
  but I told you once how beautiful the sting is
  and how lovely the Siren's song can be

  it kills
  but only once.

5.  untitled sketch

I am round today.
My lips are pressed and full
And shut.

6.  untitled sketch

The images are so tightly spun of you
They swell on me
Like this suffocating air.
Air that tears and creases.

7.  greek

I am drunk in your Zeus stare.
Its sweetness chokes me
full ended
and terrible.

You are full of serene,
marble eyelids
tongue held slightly
between your moons.

Yet still severe
and still doric
above the neck.

8.  noun

your words are too easy.
they come through me.
like glassy hooks,
hooks of blue uncertain pain.

they never leave
or kill
that is too quick.

these hooks penetrate.
they are points,
points of ragged-mouthed beauty.

their beauty kills me
but not quite.

9.  4 am

sleep is something extraordinary.
  its fingers pass over my lips
  like the sweetness of a death,
  cold and thin in its perfections.

  she is my mother,
  this slumber.
  numbing pains and forgiving failures.

  nothing matters to her.
  she does not pretend to care.

  it's this stillness I mind.
  this leadened moment before something awful.
  its black thickness suffocates like smoke,
  milky with dullness.

  tonight the walls are heavy,
  heavy with their intentions.

  they do not shelter or keep still
  but rather pull and tear
  like the cries of a child.

  it is frightening the way they'll encase.

  the fan too insults me tonight
  standing in the corner like a flat nosed skeleton.
  it revolves
  and turns
  humming as it twists the invisibles.

  this loneliness is nothing new
  but it's stiller now
  and swifter.

  it penetrates,
  deep and straight
  like a knife.

  it reminds me
  of instances, obstacles
  of my deep eyed love,
  so greek in his perfections

10.  serene

this is my purest form
there is nothing random in me tonight.
I stand central
and whitened.

my thoughts whisper through me
like the wind through a shell
bled pure with coarseness.

I bleed tonight.
my eyes are wide
and purged.

it is my edges that I round off,
my tendencies and tears,
my thin flesh,
weak and wounded.

soon I will be an Apollo,
soft eyed and parian,
marble skinned and white.

such cold and serene
can only be beautiful.

nobody will feel me.
and I will feel no one.

11. birthday (3 parts)

my days are death now
their harsh fullness thins me out
they twist and strain,
hitting me like stones.


what a laugh!
my years gain another,
this one rougher and heavier
than the rest.

I regard it,
dumb and stony-boned as an egg,
incubating its own little world,
hard-faced and angry.

they stare at me,
these years of mine,
like little jarred cadavers,
lined up on a shelf

wringing their ugly fists,
they know I've failed them.

I didn't want a present this year anyway.
just a death.

a knife in a red box
so the river could run down my arm
and the world slip out

and down the drain.