dream 1 - he hangs up
in this one
i have sex hair
and everything is sleepy
the phone rings
it's mr m
he wants to
make a plan
i tell him
i am naked
i say it slowly
dream 2 - to mr m
I sleep with your poem,
in its river, with its fist
and stone. I've stitched
the words to my brain,
tied them to my wrist,
swallowed them whole.
dream 2 1/2 - amsterdam
in a coffee shop
we laugh
new creatures we swim the streets,
if we keep left
the tulip shoe
will throw its magic glow
or so they claim
but our madness is not forgotten
we think about it everyday
it speeds through us like a red train
between the traffic
a dog's eye
sees nothing
evil
between the buildings
I am still your green girl.
dream 3 - the nightmare
you aren't in europe but you might as well be
because you are mr unavailable
mr work on the house
mr it was a joke
i wrote your name in the sand
of some sad beach where sea turtles
are endangered & the area
is kept unlit all night and when i looked out into
the blackness
from the hotel balcony
i felt the black pour into me
like dream/poem four
where you drink from my eyes and all my red cups
& my tears turn into music
and you become the wind
and so..
i turn in my dream and there you are
flowers dragging, hair roaring
bull eyes full of mud but your hands
are clean and they find me
open
|
not really a dream poem but sort of
at 3 am i heard the roar
of your blood racing through the night
felt the sweat of your words on my thigh
saw all the flowers following your scent
the deep dark colors of your hair breaking
up
i went
my body stayed behind
held down
by your hungry parts
all delicious like a favorite story
i'll never get tired of
tasting the
click click sounds
spinning me round
and polished like your nails
like your mouth so glossy
and open down below
the meadow touching the roots
of the new grass
tender like your words outstretched
and hot
and I could suck you
You're touching yourself right now, aren't you?
Yes. Are you?
Of course, naturally.
Now if we were face to face, high
and there were black nylons involved,
well then, those are the perfect ingredients
to start a great moral and ethical debate..
Check out the string arrangements
on track four (Lonesome Tears).
I'm shutting down for the night. Later.
friday - burnt offering - room 229
only wild tribes burning their fire in the mirror
loose pages ready to fall out
Leviticus
the room is too hot
cut into pieces
paper on the floor
did you sit alone
wishing for bitter coffee
and a clear view
they tell me smog buckles
they tell me you got fat
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