Monday 6 July 2009

Sonny

Sonny

Ashamed. I am a child
in a black dress waiting
for your bed-time story,
and pyamas - as this space
has no room of my own -
yet it has beautiful belly books
it has ludicrously lustful letters
it has wonderfully wisy words -
however -

jumping off no cliff will not
hiding in the sand will not
help you - said he whose
voice weakened me - my head
upon the pillow, butcher's block,
upon the promise of his touch,
a mere body, awaiting -
in the nude my hair curling -
diving in - swept over by tide
by killer whales by time
by all the salt of this sea.

Soiled Goods

Last Night when I was doing
the laundry I sort of got stuck
synopsizing what was mostly
Stains of Fish & Fledgling
McNuggets & Cauliflower Soup
on the garments I'd previously
worn - out -

afresh and categorized
remnants of had been
vessels void of life
such were the Colour
& Care arrangements
in front of me
affronting me

I am sorry, I said, dear
clothes, of what seems
is an illogical array of
amendments I have Undone
& Ruined in other people's
Dirty Dancing - I TRULY
Apollo -
gize
for
ME.

Just wait a minute
for the machine
to open.
I can hardly wait.

Saturday 23 May 2009

Drop

A last drop from the tap
is watching me, clinging,
almost falling in my tub, tub.

Do not take this drop -
how much you are in need
of filling your wanting top
lacking content lacking pub.

Your desire kneels between the grass
of dry summers long awaited harvests
of quietness, careful, pray, be still,
in listlessness, slow down - your motion,
wait upon - your final judgment,
it, perhaps, may never come or will it,
your last straw - the final - drop.
Hanging there, just you and her.

Saturday 9 May 2009

dumbfound, blindfold & unfold

I am an album.
You can  turn me over.
Though it escapes me,
meaning, it dumbfounds me,
blindfolds & damp; unfolds me
never to be found again
of hiding and seeking
painfully sleeping again
in the corners of you

your present soul
yet
many many spirits
surrounding astound

capture & catch
free thinking
to be flipped to be found
to be caught in the middle.
Again now, please.

Monday 30 March 2009

Miss In-Dependence

I have become Miss In-Dependence
Destroyer of Your World
I freely take what is Another
Ease Edges of some words entwirled
You are Above I am Below
Your Bitch's lonely feeling ditches,
Parades along a One Wife's Show
How can it be it be she's all alone?
Her love, her pride and sexy itches
came home to blot her one big blow.

Wednesday 25 February 2009

Sunday 22 February 2009

Cannot Do Multiple Reproductions

Cannot do multiple reproductions
but cropped off intentional
looks on the thick detail of life
which have their fixed identity.

Through this tight rectangle
looks at the world upside
down encourages abstraction:
is it Art, Your Name is Woman?

At this point she takes
a scalpel to time itself
and dissects human e-motion
unstable on tripod feet

- this world as fragments
not as perfect wholes -

verisimilitudes, your muse,
meanwhile, looks down on a pile,
of marking, cross & redpens; idiot-proof,
bemuses herself with stable lies ; presses on.

Saturday 21 February 2009

Aan...

Aan...

Een gat in jouw muur mijn lijf
een speldenkussen als mijn zintuig
mijn kunst ik jouw muur schrijf

dan werken wij samen heel loos
zonder aanraking vol spanning
mijn kromme vingers nagelen
lange scherpe krassen harde
lijnen een streep door zetten
jouw behang graffiti heel cool
heel sexy ongevuld maar zwoel

My Twenty Shoes

Anne Sexton - As It Was Written

Earth, earth,
riding your merry-go-round
toward extinction,
right to the roots,
thickening the oceans like gravy,
festering in your caves,
you are becoming a latrine.
Your trees are twisted chairs.
Your flowers moan at their mirrors,
and cry for a sun that doesn't wear a mask.

Your clouds wear white,
trying to become nuns
and say novenas to the sky.
The sky is yellow with its jaundice,
and its veins spill into the rivers
where the fish kneel down
to swallow hair and goat's eyes.

All in all, I'd say,
the world is strangling.
And I, in my bed each night,
listen to my twenty shoes
converse about it.
And the moon,
under its dark hood,
falls out of the sky each night,
with its hungry red mouth
to suck at my scars.