Wednesday, June 25, 2014


Her nails want some skin
to sink into.

Her jaw sometimes aches 
when she wakes up in the morning.

She'll fashion a foothold;
the back of her knee, maybe.

Twisting her wrists
around her own DNA,
she'll drag herself up

Base by base,
until she knows the length
of her rein

Touching her mistakes
the way Jesus touched
the lepers' feet 

Until she touches
an ending place.

she'll plant a flag.
Scatter some stars.
Update the myths.

Punch a black hole through the Milky Way.

Be put in her place. 



Be over it, a bit.

Remind herself
that she is free to fail,
that freedom to fail
is everything.

Her religion
is doubt.

It changes her


Thursday, June 12, 2014

Free Wheel

The evolutionary tree split
at the intersection
of what is
& what if.

That’s where we got lost;
that’s where they took a hike.
In the smudge of a serif, 
humans were off. 

That’s how a limb
loped on and up,
sticking its head
between the clouds,
where cities gleam 
and giants growl.

Sacrificing an impulse 
to devour and fuck
for a Reveille call
of more sacrifice.



But then—

A crack

And now—

Clouds pissing carbon
on the rest of 
the schmucks,
and if it’s not dark yet,
Cassandra's warming Taps.


I mean—

Are we just—

Atlas shrugs;
they look away?   

When, exactly,
will what is 
become what is not
and never will be again?

Can we naturally select
for some sanity here?

Or are we doomed
to fall 
on our bottom line--
cartoon apes 
with spinning legs
as the snap of the trunk
blinking at so much earth
rushing up,
still having the gall to ask, 

My God, My God:
Why hast thou forsaken us? 

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Deus Ex Machina

Close-up of Judith I by Gustav Klimt

Open me
with your mouth;

                        make me three

I like the drama
of your lips

                       against the act

I like the way 
you concentrate

                        light to one
                        specific place

And how you break  
the final wall  

                        to bring the curtain