Give up your penchant for making sense

when into braided water you step, heavy pocketed

indeed, reason exists within envelope of glued attempts

pick the short straw, watch it bend into a ship

gliding like spilt milk on your wayward glance

you, the one who had pulled trees from earth

thinking if you carried my soul in your locket

the water would never rise and take us both

breathless beneath deluge

still it is the vagaries of repair

stitching borders with ill-taught savagery

the only nimble thing I possessed was the memory

of your words leaning into the whirl of my ear

like a symbol I could see

even as my eyes were closed tight

against the leaning curvature of the world


Save you

We are rarely touched enough, by far away concerns

Though we should

Give a damn

I was told it was their fault they went into the cave

Made me wonder

At the empathy quota

Of some

For last night

In the darkness

I imagined them in their dark cavern

No security

Just the absence of everything

As oxygen lost

And waters threatened to rise

I prayed

To God

To thimbles

To caves

To monsoons

To mercy

They did not die

It must not be in vain


Save them

They live now

On the thin cusp of chance

I cannot tip the balance

Imagining their parents

The exhausting weight of time

Patience nobody has

Will they survive?

I try to think of ways

It reminds me

We are free

It reminds me

How little we think

Of others

Clinging on

When we get consumed by unimportant rages

If I could dive

And take your hand

I would hold my breath

Like Shelly Winters in The Posidon

She died saving them

I was about your age when I watched that film

I asked my dad

Why do good people suffer?

He said don’t worry

But I did

I wanted to forget

It’s easier

Her eyes kept coming back

Just as you

With your skinny legs drawn away from the edge

Tell me we only have one thing left of worth

Our hearts

So I pray

Whether I believe in God or not

For a miracle or a hero

To save you all

All they saw

All they saw were moments left by those who came before

Not knowing what they meant or who they were

Lain in their waterpainted graves like matryoshka dolls

Did they grieve like us, whetting their knives on totems?

To understand those things that cannot be understood

A child breathing her last, in dimmed swaddling

The ache of old age, enveloping once limber athlete

Love crumpled like fallen leaves, forgotten beneath

Did they yearn to be special? Noticed? Relevant?

Or glide invisibly through spun sheets of glass

Like early morning bakers rising their bread

Grown stale by afternoon, becoming food for birds

Such circles clasped in ever decreasing circles

Worn as sea pearls on mermaids smooth throats

Were they kind? Merciful? Fearful? Incomplete?

The sight of tilled soil and ruined land cleared of living green

Did it bury the same arrow in their quincing conscience?

Will time gently lay a wreath of forgetfulness?

Over their efforts as if never and not, their lives

Extinguished in a long roll of time and bundled up

To lie beside other oxidizing keepsakes and memories

Til the last person who remembered, was no more

So much existing, lost in favor of the clamoring now

All they saw were moments left by those who came before


This chronic virus grasped me by the throat

Not lover, not rapture, the thunder of hooves seeking sinner

A Gorgon, Kraken, Swamp Thing of the blood rose

I cried; Is this retaliation for not caring enough? I do! I do!

But those who don’t act, are only words and armchairs, the hypocrisy of ourselves, fattening in our prayers

Epstein Barr knew this well, it is after all, an insidious invader enjoying its art

What did I do to deserve you as my bedfellow? I asked one night

Can’t you just leave me be? Return to the days before you feverishly claimed me your supplicate?

Swimming in my blood, high levels of scarlet poison, whispering; I could give you fibromyalgia, MS, cancer, chronic fatigue

But I chose to cause you to sicken every day, your stomach, your achilees heal, my throne

And as you write, think on me, for I infect you all, only some are immune

You, you are weak and afraid, with your desire to be a writer, which you’ll never truly be

Wanna know why?

You don’t have the personality or the guts

You don’t have the PEP

Imagination and pretty words aren’t enough

You need a marketing machine, a robust ego, stainless steel skin, no demons in your head

I don’t have any demons, I lied

Tucking the beasts behind my eyes

I may not get feverish over publicity tours or spend eight hours online, learning how to be adored

Because I’m trying, despite you, to live fully, without so much noise

I want to sit on my stoop and observe the flight of birds through water

That’s how I eventually write or embroider my tongue with song

By being quiet and inhaling the vibration of life

Like our favorites who didn’t always write daily

Sometimes, there’s more in less

In our world it’s too much 24/7

The population bomb broadcasting its static purr

I am a bad self publicist, I don’t submit enough or live for attentions

I’d rather drive listening to a favorite song and tune into my imagination

You can use too many words

You can say too much

I’m not trendy enough, too pale, too short, too sleepy

Or is that you Epstein Barr?

Infecting my remaining motivation?

Obliterating the words before they are written?

That thin wristed girl, who balanced in high heels, dancing in the dark

Her head full of sound

If you came and found me now

Stroking the night clear of wreathed clouds

I’d be sleeping beneath the magnolia

Learning the runes of its roots

The shadow of wolves

Other people’s words are caught in my throat

A crysalisis of drip coffee, crosswords, bathroom jokes, call-girl cards wedged in phone booths

Sitting making a call in a bar, the smell of leather and whiskey

I like neither

Nor your cologne sprayed too strong, the pungent announcement of you

I don’t like how you lean in to tell a satin story of misfortune

Only to laugh at the death of your hero

Or the reflection of your eyes in that frosted Mai Tai

We’re walking backwards in time

You’re a student of Russian with eyes the color of absynthe and fingers too meaty to carress

Your measure is to swallow the air and push girls into doll clothes and keep them buttoned underneath your simmer

I climbed out

Caught a ferry to Santorini

Ate volcanic ash

Ejected you from my memory like an A-Track

Spooling without sound

If I were a bird, I’d be plaited opaque

Invisible to the blister of your reproach

Emotional attachment suspended in lanterns carrying combustion

Drowning out sleep in the bellies of their firey potential

When trees drop their leaves, we leave ourselves behind

Staring at mosaics, burnt effigies offering carved warning

With no way out, the maze reveals its wormy heart and is blameless

For we select our song, and the scratches we choose to polish

I still wear bobby sox on bare floors, though I know they’ll never wash white

Standing at lunch counters wondering at the savagery and glutony with rumbling stomach and spare change

Choose coffee, you get refills

Choose smoking, it hastens disease and makes you disappear

Into a wreath of smoke playing Led Zeppelin, and there he is again

The baby-faced poser with a need to strike you out

Like a match

Flushed down the toilet into drains

I hear children live underground and never see day

I believe in dragons and magicians and instant noodles

But I don’t believe in you

And your sham foolery spilt like a brand everytime you try

To tailor me obedient

I don’t eat breakfast, I have three desserts

When it’s bedtime I stay awake trying to see through walls

You’re learning Swedish, I’m repairing old clothes

The paint we bought, doesn’t stay on the walls

Everything is temporal, even your hash tasting mouth and the embers of our deceit

I play the dischordant piano, you wrap around me like asbestos

We have run out of time

Taking our clothes off, in windows lit with fury

You walk until the ground shakes you out of linearity

Two tropical birds, their pink feathers glowing against grey city

I could never dive from the top board without belly flopping

And when it’s late and there’s no rest

You try to make amends even as I close the glass door

Sliding down banisters recklessly, feels good

Like a stairway to a new feeling and we howl

For there is no control, only the swiftness of our run

One step ahead, the shadow of wolves racing behind


Out of the smallness that is me

Not you

I don’t know how you stumble through this world

Or glide, shine, explode, trip

Out of the smallness that is me

Is the only point of reference

I’m no empath

Can’t speak for you, choose colors for walls or swatch of fabric

You may stand beside me all our lives

Rubbing shoulders, sharing scraps thrown

By the hedgemony

Still I am me and you are you

You born in a family of four

Eight, three, six

Me, born in zero

A concept that is Indian

As my concept is reduced

Shrunken, made to fit a narrow lens

Just me

Till this world strokes her end

On my wick

And kissing me bon nuit

Extinguishes the tick tock tick

Out of the smallness that is me

To some an ordinary, downright boring set of genes

We are not that much more to each other than code

The man who seaks a mate types;

Pale skin need not apply

I like coffee and cream not plain vanilla

Whilst to another I am a warrior, a fighter, a courageous soul

I could have fangs and scales and they’d love me still whole

Their eyes pierce the superficial wrapping of the world and locate my root


I wake from salt, I die in sod


An only child, no lessons in

Understanding concepts of siblings

I hold your hands in imaginary play

You take the razor away and hide it behind teddy

We swim underwater to the same heartbeat

Imagination has a secret back door

You stay behind whilst I am forced

Out into a single stage for ill-prepared audition

Can’t tap dance your way to inclusion

The audience are sets of Siamese twins

One yawns, the other powders her nose

He tweeks his moustache, she fidgits on the balls of her toes

A dancer without freedom

As I am given too loose a rein

Tell the child to hush and stay out of sight

You may find her gone before she’s finished

Learning her lessons from the good book

And sun comes ashen and discolored through poorly wiped glass

Yesterday’s merriment hangs like a wreath in stale air

Adults drop their heads as if pinched with regret

Just yesterday we didn’t think on it

The hiss of spectator and judge dualing on parapet

Still I am me and you are you

Longing to transcribe the distance

Tap tap of moorse code

Flash flash the lantern extinguished by high wave

No translation

I sit

At a table for one

And watch the elbows jostle and spar

Closer than twice removed and strangers can understand

A plea we have no words for

In the long sum of day

Yawning at our door

Warm and content like a cat

Who has lapped spilt milk

Before it turned sour

Out of the smallness that is me

Seven billion voices and one

Stubborn in her persistent belief

We all



A tiny chasm that grows into a fracture


I dreamed the world cracked open

Revealing crystalline center

You pulled me in

The hollow game

And I said

I’ve been waiting forever

For to feel your grasp of me

I’d give up air

I’d give up breath

To inhale your need, however fleeting

For I am wilted in thirst

As when we, the frangipani observant

Bow our heads to the prophet

Took our turn at frankenmuth anointment

Hoping it would spare from wicked stir of time

Unleashing her malcontent

It seemed we were briefly saved

The madcap fickleness longer than

Most fragile shifting things

Including a gleam you once had

Entranced by my eyes, weeping in climax

Neck bent like reclining jasmine spilt from clay

Scent of amber and lapis, wrung on tepid air

Standing still in trance, simple pearlized pleasure

Pull my pin

There you go …

Five seconds, ten

Go real slow

When it’s

The end of

The world