Wednesday, December 09, 2009

More New Apps


Hunters get smitten with their prey,
but to kill is such an amazing rush
who could possibly resist, I’m into
these thoughts because you dazzle
me away from words into your red
pulpy depths, which I resent, but I
can do nothing about, because you
have nails in your cunt and crucifix
in your mouth, when I come I’m a
perfect personal Jesus, but the gash
is all yours, did I mention I love you?


we can't stop trying to conceive,
even though our bodies are dead
to each other, and nightly deaths
I took for granted are razors in a
           part of my flesh that
           can never live again—
certain possessions possess us.


Your arms
oppress me;
my deep
you like
Think of
waves of
tides of
butter, all
into a dense,
if this is
the lease,
I'll sign.


terse as this is, it is
given to us in bits
carelessly shorn
from rocky slopes,
of this I can only
say nothing comes
with things built in,
it’s always sharp edges,
crevices, crags, precipice,
abrupt plunges into “wants,”
what subsists between us
happens in canyons lined
in blue waters where this
slides down to a dense
bottom, I can’t retrieve
you twice in the same
way, it must be terse
because real is terse,
tense because it’s so
frail, pine cones held
in a child’s hand, snapped.

P.S. A new interview with me on Goss 183.


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