just getting used to being cadavers

lying on the kitchen counter cold granite

kisses the back of my arms,

palms up and open like:

give us Blessing, send us peace.

just getting used to being cadavers.

the darkness that smooths onto

our bodies makes sense: swish

it heavy over my teeth until it lies

sleepy-thick on my

eye-lids, roll my head back to

stare at this dark grey ceiling (a.k.a.

the scintillating shimmering

of the ephemeral 12 a.m.).

there’s a certainty encompassing us:

death whispers dulcet at our horizontal

feet. my soul glazes over sweet

with vivacity, crunchy as new-born

carrots pulled orange from the ground.

sucking life up by the tips of my

pale, trembling fingers.

this is all I craved

in the bike-rides home these past winter nights;

wind sharping raw on

my gripped red knuckles

made me envisage long epitaphs

of us present-day saints.

thanks be to your presence,

a warm, solid, brown thing that

sings of sincerity so that make-believe

death such as ours makes me believe

harder in your naked words which

untangle like tree branches searching

desperately for open sky.

we polish our souls glossy in the moon-light,

porcelain plates that glint

of lingering expectation,

glassy, almost life-like

in pure-white shadow dreams.

immanuel

I.

the glory had left. I searched

desperate for your open hands,

broken feet trampling

dry words, empty kisses.

desolation and guilt

crumpled dark under my eye-lids;

I found no relief in

glistening baubles.

raw fingers dug deep into

discordant lies, I saw

a cacophony of frantic

red. god with us?

cold empty pushed blue

inwards, choked breathing, hit

shivers solid up my soul—

this is what December tasted of.

II.

until you breathed back

warmth, solid that winter

night with my soul tucked

careful and quiet into my mouth.

I felt you: your god becoming

flesh; your presence awakened

my hardness, softened the

drought. I beheld:

incarnate anew. it was too

much, I could not look, yet

my wondering eyes felt

your god revealed.

I wept, for redemption

lay velvet upon my neck,

gold halos creased my forehead:

“lo, I am with you always.”

whiskey promises to be drunk

on, thirst quenched as

seeking hands clutch home--

god made flesh.

[exodus]

Pour me another,

let it froth the top of my

desert-dry lips as

we march—a people

cursed to wonder, 

lost from Promised Land.

From our mouth

pours sand and fear,

our shoes fill with

desire: belonging felt

simpler in Egypt.

We shall see God

someday?

Perhaps--

when our

bones are bleached

brittle by guilt,

                            when forty years

                            restless is up,

when our children

cannot look us

in our clouded eyes.

Does shame come

soft on your open,

praying hands? 

Do the fires lick

your elbows, burn your

bent knees?

Singe my forehead on

hot desert sand,

smoking flesh in my nostrils:

small price to pay for

Promised Land.

I hear it: heart-ache

thumping deep in the hollow

ground echoes all we

lost when we set out

to find our-selves, 

our Promised Land.

And so—forgive us, Father?

Lead us not into Temptation

but to our Promised Land.

And deliver us from Evil,

but straight to Promised Land.

Hear us shout! Our voices raised in

brilliant harmony: we are yours,

yours, all yours!

(just take us to Promised Land)

song of the fish

I. 

today, I almost crushed the fish.

dumping them into a bowl,

their rocks came plunging

onto them: they wriggled in

breathless ecstasy, gills

frantic with escape and air.

today,

rocks crush heavy

on my fragile chest too—I heave

in haggard breaths, but the

pressing is real,

the sky a torn grey, the wind

cutting dangerous into soft white

flesh.

II.

visions of future

terrify me homewards,

drag black onto

trembling hands,

call for silence,

a deep and solemn lament. 

forgive me, lord, for I have sinned:

I have tasted forbidden pomegranates,
juicy with lust, purple apathy
streaking my fingers,
running hard onto naked
chest.

I have eaten sweet honey,
coating my lips with
luke-warm love--
it leaves only
heady salt thick
on my tongue.

I have been merry and drunk
with empty promises,
careless chatter,
lilting laughter.

I have eaten and drinken my fill,
I have come up empty. 

bless us, father.

III.

my soul is longing to burst away;

tight skin keeps it

gripped--

I wriggle inwards,

gasping for life,

for the freedom water brings.

baptize me anew in fresh

tap, please. no more heavy

stuff to crush small

gills, make me flop silly

dances around the

wide, dark unknown.

life in a fish-tank

is hard enough already.

and all of this, I give to you

I put my head

between my bruised knees,

hang heavy here

in deep-watered reality,

nothing more real than

the salt scent of

blood.

everything fine,

just fine

except--

your emptiness

haunts my

very fingertips.

(begging)

please look up,

see the writing

etched in scratches

on the ceiling—

it is for you, friend!

I can do no more than this:

please! know that

your soul is a

small, brave, soft thing

in a large world--

they will try to eat it;

you must not let them.

you must fight,

cry, love,

lose,

& never forget

who made

you.

there is light left in you yet,

brave thing. you have

not lost it.

please believe me: when I

kissed your cheek—

I tasted the dark black bitter

of empty,

I found you were not well.

I was not frightened.

(but if so,

only a little,

only for you)

come,

it is an uphill battle.

I will fight it with you,

not for you.

please,

read again the words

etched from my own white fingers,

tracing memories of past

onto your shadow-eaten face:

you are worth so much

more than all of this—

before the darkness drinks

you dry,

tell me you believe it!

at least a little,
at least for now.

warm

he blows smoke in my face

so I laugh,

sending good will shooting hard

between soft cigar smoke rings,

past that promising north star,

straight on heavenwards.

the youth dribbles down our chins,

mingling with chlorine water

bubbling between quiet bodies;

shadows cut our faces gentle,

leave pale souls in luminous catches.

we are made of limbs and words tonight:

six whole humans full of

thoughts, opinions, needs--

crammed into my

dad’s old jacuzzi somewhere

in southern Ohio.

but this is good, this is all good!

there is buzzing in my stomach

that tells of transcendence,

the soles of my feet tingle

with a deep acceptance,

hope lies on my naked shoulders,

snuggles close into my clavicle;

even the darkness feeds my skin

fat velvet blessings

this warm November evening.

12:33 a.m.:

the stars

hear our voicemails,

come out,

kiss us goodnight.

we shall see great things from such low heights

we scoop ashes into our dust-born throats,

burnt fingers blackened by sin.

remember those we once were

in battle? struck down by friendly fire:

join us in praying for

__________________ we have lost!

forgive me father,

for I curse

too often,

love too little,

kiss too hard;

I feed on the ghosts of past saints while

fire flickers faintly on my forehead—

(“there are no halos left;

            we sold out last Tuesday")

I am drunk on words of promise:

please say them slowly—

I want to eat it sweet off your lips,

my world reels in

cacophonies of hope,

in bright glitter clutches.

puke up your insides,

tell them you belong. 

horizon lines escape me,

but not before I clutch at their petticoats,

trail into unknown deserts--

we shall see great things from such low heights. 

rejoice!

for I bring you good news

(no shit):

the cynicism shall eat your heart out

while you bleed your soul
onto the hood of a 98’ Eldorado

in some suburban neighborhood

west of Chicago.  

go in peace,

my child.

perhaps after this, we learn to see

When I got home,

I took a walk.

It seemed the right thing

--the only thing—
to do.

I needed to be reminded of it all again,

so I pulled two sweat-shirts

over my head: protect me, please,

against the cold of bitterness,

the chill of insignificance.

My feet tracked through

memories years deep,

slogging through ghosts of past

Chicago winters.

I mourned for what I did not know,

I grieved for all inevitable darkness that followed;

my lament was a howling

of silence--

sacrificed: tear tracks on 

cold-kissed cheeks. 

I found myself

lost in orange street-light shadows;

in the middle of the dark

field, I tilted up—

my eyes swallowed the prickling stars

in great gulps-- they pooled

in my belly like
the pop-rocks we ate as kids,

mini explosions

of eminent self-worth. 

You meant something then 

(and always, always! but especially then):

your life its own

vast miniature explosion.

I found comfort in your years;

they kept me from 

searching my own.

taste & see

I miss you in the dark. 

But only purple shadows

make sense in

dreams

these days,

so I fill the hole

with chattering teeth

too cold to bite

off flesh—

flurries gorge my

throat with

sudden sapphire

swallows

while

lumps of golden wonder

clink into place-- hide

them quick before

they slip off my

arms, fall far

down down &

away!

For when the clutches of

salvation cling to

my skirts, I

brush them off;

my fingers buzz 

with dandelion consequences

too pale to number—never

have I looked

this brave;

but the cost comes

with the mid-morning

sun, when cryptic

light aims itself

straight at my

cheeks.

I find myself: tilting

upwards, fumbling

down;

where are we going

when we stretch ourselves

out on thin 

yellow blankets

and squint directly

at the un-answering

sun?

Soul Dusting

You were heavy,

lead on my lips—

I licked you off,

found beauty from the

weight of

surrendering inwards.

Quick!

Drop softly to the floor

in shaky once-more-whole

being; I think I know

who I once was—someone

burns sugar in the kitchen

and fear haunts these

smile lines again?

God save me from

the touches of false ghosts

as city skyline fades

black, kisses highway,

turns dead cold. 

Please believe me when I tell you: 

I am simple in my desires,

but my desires are not simple. 

Look at these palms, offered whole

in peaceful protest

--do not shoot! I fear I cannot look

back. 

This silver soul has tarnished slowly

in your fingers—

give it here.

I will polish it brilliant,

 make it

emerald laughter,

violet shouts,

silver crying,

navy peace.

My prayers were amber meditations—

gentle as summer-rain,

sweet as mango. Did they

touch your ears when

I kissed them towards

God?

wild sweet nothings

brush hair back against the grain:

we search for light

which comes by twisted

angle arms;

childhood playback rewind rewind—

quick quick, switch it up!

until the fuzz black

becomes fuzz white

becomes crackle, crackle, stereo babble.

even then they eat merrily without us;

they do not see

our eyes have turned

to stone, they do not know

when we taste salt on our lips—

we are princes of future promise:

our doubt lies in our salvation

(and vice versa).

stomachs fall like raindrops

in our guts;

we puke them out:

food is useless here,

where the fallen lie in,

stuck to the roofs

of their mouths, fake teeth

rot around them.

we wash our ear-lobes with

fear, beg the hyssop

leaves to make us clean.

let us rub our bellies well to

symbolize such wicked hunger.

do not help--

we shall make great signs!

we shall do great things!

they will know us by our loneliness,

by our consumerism.

4 a.m.

eat cold

stomach soup

heavy with

un-digested

early being.

make black

velvet drop

like metal

hard thuds.

spilt shatters

slip soft

split heaven-

ward home.

take care

of carefully

curled toes.

 

we are

only ours

before day-

light ekes

frosted breath

away.

pinches

sleeping is hard

but waking is worse—

when The Itch at the tip of your toes

spreads in little twitchy red nerve bits

inwards; your heart bites onto

anything hard, feel gold desperation ooze

in thick onto pale chest—give me

balance—

wrongness starts at your knuckle lines

so wiggle fingers, shake It

off—into the abyss, into the wide wide world

of fail, of mistake--

get It off, off!

get It--

scurry like the black ant into a

grass forest, carrying all of It away,

running It deep and hard and good into

the pavement as you drive

It out of your aorta so scarlet with

sweet, lusty red fears.

silver shinings: reflection of

soul and shadow means you can see

only one half of the face—

the rest

i’ve left in the darkness,

pray the gloom does not devour

such pretty sparkle

dreams that wrap

the constellations into violets,

explode brilliant

sharp sea glass into the stained

horizon.

heavier than friday evening

do you remember those nights when
fear fell asleep on my cheek,
stretched gray into my pores,
made me itch    itch    itch
with glass house air--
warm with living breathing weeds
that dug into the moist soil of my heart?

and do you remember when
i told myself he could not love me
because there was too much of his soul
he never gave, all neat and packaged
up like christmas still. and dammit if
mine wasn't unwrapped, the paper
thrown half-way cross the room now,
am i right?

there was fear there too--
rejection and sorrow wrapped cords
of raw liver around my feet, kept
watch of my naked heart when it
beat too hard because it wasn't sure
they heard it and to be left in a
cardboard box by the cracked asphalt might
have just broken the old thing.

the waking was the worst: that was
the time when it all came rolling into
my stomach like a ball of yarn--
knotted tangled scratchy mess
lumped into me, spilled out of my
mouth. made it hard to think, hard to even
get up, get going, get doing.

those were the days i understood
the darkness some people carry
the best, for it back-packed between
my shoulder blades. i set it down somewhere
(was it thursday?), yet it finds
me at times still, settles coldly
into my molars. some days i leave it there--
it keeps me human.

heavy as light

black silk butterfly

gleaming with heavy flutterings

swept along by light, she

follows into the flowers

terrified of sky freedom

she hovers in the middle

blue effervescence crisscrossing

through, sunlight glimmering on small black body

she is carrying the weight

of the world

half

Touching the skin of the water--

like running fingers down the lining

of a blue velvet coat,

feel it rise to meet me

enveloping my body in sweet

innocent desire—half gone,

gulped up by the pool,

legs wobbling below in dim

under-water vision—

this is vulnerability:

this standing almost naked,

lower half swallowed by shadows,

upper half tasted by wind

that raises goose-flesh on my arms—

deep breaths,

like sucking in sensations,

like filling my lungs with sudden brightness,

feel them inflate, water ripples

below—

this solitude

makes me notice my aliveness,

like a lone lightening bug on a moonless prairie;

feel my arms push circles through heavy air--

swoop, swoop!

(like when I was little and had dreams of flying)

tightness a wooden ball in my chest,

the cold licking at my belly—

I cannot stay here

half in/half out,

but it greets me on either end:

chilly unknown stretched in a dark gray blanket

before me; to dive

would be human.

To leave? Even more.

I savor this for a second:

the universe lies in my spine,

crooked between flesh and bone—

I take a breath—

plunge inwards, away.

simply six

We trip along together:

optimistic 6,

cautious 21--

an odd pair,

yet child-hood wonder

the same

as verdant hills

open like dictionary pages

before us—

“I am a white horse,”

she says,

as we follow the path uphill,

the air sweet and clear as cyan blue.

So I was a bear—

because bears can take care of

themselves.

She demands of me,

bouncing from stone to stone

while I balance

carefully, afraid of a twisted ankle—

“Choose: are you happy,

or sad,

or angry,

or tired.”

I laugh,

caught off guard

by such childish simplicity:

her determination

to cram thousands

of burning, buzzing emotions

into four simple categories.

We make it to the top,

triumph over vanquished mountains,

conquerors of a forgotten era

rush through my blood,

make me heady with hubris.

“I am content,” I say,

as the wind smooths my cheeks,

unable to label,

to pocket, tag, shelf

the moths that clunk

frantically

in my brain space.

“That’s not an option,”

I’m informed

as she shakes her head,

skipping away--

still light,

still six.

We descend,

her running gleefully,

slipping, sliding—

a bundle of curiosity

that will stretch

into careful adult

too soon.

But I envy her

this simplicity,

this lust for life—

mine grows jaded with rust

though small things

like mountain conquerings

keep it polished;

I must guard it closely,

musn’t let it

out in the open—

things get lost that way.

slice

there are moments

(when i’ve eaten

the ripe sunshine

and swollen into

balloon- like being)

my body buzzes

with soft

energy

(like the vermillion beating

of a hummingbird’s

wings)

-- it is then i can taste it,

delicious and full,

the sweet juice of it dripping

sticky down my chin

(think orange,

think citrus, pure)

--it is then i can hear it,

the breathing of my heart

which pushes back against

all things night

(inviting in only

black velvet bats to flutter

in its gothic bowers)

--it is then i can touch it,

what it is like to be human,

to want more than is your right,

to long for everything,

to be so close to nothing

(like running your fingers

along the branches of pine needles)

death closes swiftly upon

small bodies,

opening them like drawers

to crack in the

star-crusted universe

before ramming

blackness shut;

it is this paradox—

of wanting much more

than my delicate flesh

can hold,

of being so full of life

i'd burst to eat more

(but feed me anyways

because--!)

the smell of life

is fresh rye bread,

baked early in the morning—

sour and soft,

promising goodness and

wholeness—

chew it thoughtfully,

it is this slice

given

and nothing more.

ocean hungry

Once I loved a man who was hungry as the sea:

his eyes ate up my soul in eager pieces,

the waves were in his fingers, rushing soft,

his heart lay beating in the horizon line--

I dove into him and found no bottom.

I washed my feet in his desires,

bathed in his gentle admiration,

found myself once more in his strength—

the current took me inwards, deeper,

drove me into his fears;

I swam in them and was not afraid.

On stormy nights he crashed into being,

thundering furrows of his brow

pulled out my drunken love,

drowned it in deep steel blue

as dark clouds collected overhead,

pouring heavy on my skin.

They say the sea is ever-changing,

but I found him constant,

if only in his inconsistencies—

when I plunged myself into him:

weightless, an open expanse

mysterious and fulfilling—

I drank my full; it did not burn me.

But you cannot change the sea,

it beats on endlessly, passionately--

let me be baptized under the water!

and if he was the sea, then I the sky—

my cobalt faded gently into his waves,

longing to meet in a silent embrace.

I fell fully into him;

stripped into vulnerability,

trusting of my innocence,

his warmth swelled to meet me—

his whispers were the curls of a sea-pink conch,

I still hear the beating of the ocean current

when I close my eyes.

why does the creeping come so soft?

those nights when your knees go numb,

arms fall limp,

stomach tumbles out with a warm

plop onto the carpet

because

the greedy past ate your confidence,

so violet thoughts buzz on your

finger tips which twitch empty,

clutch restless against your bed sheets

as guilt grows creeping-ivy

along your hair-line.

regret!

you whisper sweet

dank drippings

that ooze down my

wrists--

speak easy to me:

gin soft words dropped

pillowing into my brain--

tell me I am more than

this skin with its

endless electrons that

burn against my eyes,

frantic.

taste my heart

if you doubt—

you’ll find it thundering

with insatiable desire,

lent me by the sun.

please bathe me

in golden baptismal waters,

renew my soul that lingers

at the edge,

give me green glass eyes that

see all things new.

if I told you my heart is as greedy as the sea

the light hits the sea-cliff harshly,

biting off a slice of its rocky soul,

drags it deep into the rushing,

drowns it among drunken sorrows

as the gulls above scream

with piercing funeral calls

to mark their grief—

pebbles rounded by sweet sincerity

lie thick and heavy in their graves,

smooth as familiar kisses,

smelling of sea and salty regret,

picked up and tossed into an 

unforgiving and devouring ocean:

a desperate sacrifice to the gods—

liquid steel water

stirred cold by the tears of the gods

sweeps gently onto the land,

begs its mother not to reject it

but is pushed back

into its own throat 

to gurgle softly 

and retreat once more—

the horizon line drops upward

guided ever forward by relentless cerulean;

small boats dance

at the edge of such eternity,

unaware of the danger that may

throw them on towards

the lining of humanity and the

stitches of the world.