I saved your kiss mark for months on a piece of paper. It was the last time I saw you, that we’d be together, wrapped in turquoise and breath from the New Mexican sky. The last time the canyons would fill with red flowers for us, the last time carpets of green were […]
While my hair was still braided half-way down my backI stood at the front gate painting my shadow orange with wax crayons.
You sent me a letter written with the bow from a cello from Carnegie Hall. You painted the lines with suns, grape leaves, and gargoyle tongues.
And I went on living in a bungalow not […]
Cups
This cup holds death.
Orange blossoms fall into white cups.Their fragrance makes the shine on my lips.I tell you, I am letting you go.The small blossoms exit two by twoone by one until there is nothing leftof my body but a lamp flickering by the fireplace.
This cup pours the body through the top of the head.
In […]
from the siddhartha series
This isdustandwater.A tuftof summergrass.Teethandbonesof thebanyan tree.Silksand desire.Amber cutfrom themotherstone.The rutilated quartzfrom the teethof themaster.Atremorof handsagainstthe stringsof the guitar.Flakes of snowcollected ona whiteplate.This is yourmother’ssecretjournal.Your father’sdarklonging.This isthe gutter heartof old books.Paddlestouch waterin thecanalits waterrolling downyour silver ringsrolling downyour silver braceletsyour ivory combthe kohl from beneathyour eyes-the handprint of youis in its methodof holding […]
from the siddhartha series
The blood has risen to the leaves.In the forest we shotthe arrows high.A quiver andsharp tipfor speedto hitbullseye.She,stampedby the handof the tulku,let herself unfurla train of silk,waterpouredover sand,spreadwhere the Chosen One’s arrowhit.A crimson timewhen I lift the her bodyfrom the ground.When I woundthose that carrythe springI knowthere is nogoing back.
from the siddhartha series
I went aloneto seekthe salve.My teachers failedto help melift ironfromcoaland I surpassedtheir skill.This is the way ofpulling foodfrom the handsof the hungry.This is the wayof taking taffetafrom the robesof a queen.I close my eyesand put my handsin heart mudra.I am the magicbeingwho levitatesabove rings of fire.I am the fortune tellerwith a red […]
from the siddhartha series
Monkey Wheel
It didn’t have a core.The seeds were on the outside.Sprinkled with white powder.Salty, then sweet.Many were afraid of.Green lizardson the rocks.Some did blood sacrifice there.Others did not eat meat.Some wore sandalsand walked upstone pathways.It was filled with bright light.Chanting in other languages.Do you understand?A small monkey will cometo meet youwith his […]
draft 1
He spends Sundayscarving wooden swansout of maple smoothwith sap and sweetnesselectric and nervoushis hands arearound the long necksof birds.
Cinnamon are his eyesfilled with amber smokeshy silk of small talkis like snow meltingon skin.
You must be an underwater diverto know him, because he is madeof coral, made of black and shinymollusks hidden beneath sea stones […]
after “To A French Structuralist” David Kirby
There’s no modesty, inside the drawer
filled with polka dot and lace undergarments.
Today, I fell in love with a posy, I fell in love
with his ripped shirt and his too big boots.
I drank red wine late into the night
and painted stars across his chest,
I told him lightly, I adored […]
This slender hand, holds threesilver stars on the ring finger,cotton from treesin the fall, just beforethe effigy is burned.
Exotic flowers are undressedby the painter in the cedar room.Later, others will watchthem emerge from darkrooms and canyons.They will think aboutthe end of the world,but say nothing.
This hand holds what is electric,what burns behind closed doorslate at […]