pebbles of thought

"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." --- Sylvia Plath

boom boom pow



oh blood. what is this vicious
stuff pouring out of me-
i feel it; jealousy;
it sucks and stings
and bites through my thin skin
like a sweat breaking---
i WANT i NEED i LUST
i dream and dream and dream
and dance till morning
clutching anybody's hand,
knowing it means nothing...
heart thuds. skips. stops.
----
runs on again.





words spoken in a sea-shell




again there's this hollow wound
a space in me filled with the glitter of the sea
and the grey cloud-bellies above it
brooding, about to burst;
there is a humming thread,
perhaps it is a tornado, a hurricane,
a twirling raging blackness!
from my eyes ropes snake
and you my darling are lasooed
you are entwined - the pieces of you,
the ghostly fragments, the photographs
and the smiles i dreamed of.

and in my dream i wrapped my arms
around you and found your neck
and fitted my palm around it and
i leaned in and my lips brushed your ear
and i spoke it out loud, over and over and over:
i love you i love you i love you i love you


june 6th © All rights reserved



kazimierz



drifts touch the stark city
to monotone.  sun
tattoos a pale disk, grating glass.  bitter past
numbness i
crave heat and taste.

*

kazimierz walls me in.
under ice, history complains to
the small of my back, rusting in mouth-corners
and eyelets and industrial zips
( chanting: )
I was oil I was wax I was tin and lead
and paper and
you, what are you?


on stone step of bakery and bank
rooks huddle discussing news.  fur scraps tatter wasted muscle
and bare ankles swollen by a century of winters.
button eyes.

*

we plaster facades over (bullet riddled lintel),
hoist up flags over (smoke stains), wear heels or lipstick or sew
satin flowers on our hats.

but our hearts clamour,
drumming behind viscid tissues
of these wearied eyes:

(ee-lie, ee-lie, this is bad, all right.)




May 19th © All rights reserved 

picture by aga_stasz


 

spiralling



I dreamt there was a tornado in my back yard
like the finger of God
it swept up black dust from forgotten crevices
and threw out lightning
and in my dream I put my hands out
my two hands together, cupped together,
looked up at the raging roof of the sky,
everything in me about to collapse.
I thought of you.

May 14th 2009 © All rights reserved

image from prairie pictures


emergence of a poet



she was reborn both legs kicking
in a rush of pitchy blood,
the nubs of her shoulders gleaming
with birth-sauce,
fresh with the lick of the womb.
she was already a chalice: waiting for the world
to once more fill her to the brim

startling blue eyes as any other baby, screwed up, blind,
brow wrinkled in a prophesy of old age,
balled sausagemeat fists hiding
palms to tell a future from.

her hair seaweed dark, and steaming,
plastered to her geographic scalp-
inside, her brain was ticking over itself
bellowing and crashing against its walls

her infant mouth opened in a gloomy yell

her tongue like a worm
she sucks in the rushing air


on May 15, 2008.  © All rights reserved