Pablo Says

” Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour. Loving is a clash of lightning bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.’ Neruda I swoon and arch my neck reaching for his nektar Loving is a journey of the heroes kind epiphany

Prose Poultice

hot rocks and books soothe me their awareness somewhat circular contained and expansive felting through my skin this fragrant prose poultice warming my naked heart flicking fingertips page by raw page  peeling back  textured and curly earthy and aromatic dust and water new and old like paperbark  the stories imagine my bare ocre overwhelmed with spearheaded life force  splicing the

today it’s about bees

or is it about poison? poisonous mad making arsenic accumulation asylum seeking loopy lou discombobulation? is it about misfiration and never repletion is it about my own….wanton disregardiosion….. a bred terror of heavy metal intoxicablation a hive in my mind my mind in the hive please! and they came to me a three bee formation

Becoming Gravity

I am heavy an enormous beast a megalith made of mud a wide basket of stony faces sluggish dragging a shape HUGE a fluctuating undulating salty water bag barely contained contained seeking flailing squirming for perforation pleading for PUNCTURE and so it was becoming gravity she flooded blushed and waved spreading without shame a merciless

breakfast friend

she ate pastry from my fingertips watching me wanting like a small man pacing pecking tasting the air my lips tilted upward and light like a feather-feeling sunshine shifted across her glossy back warming my chest deep into the hollow there I could have caught her shadow with my sugared hands but I thought it

tragedy

warheads pressing in-formation causing her throat to swell and tighten building desire like cities digging tunnels too deeply disrespectfully into her earth creating openings and avalanches minute tragedies in her stomach leaving little flags where maybe something lies buried tragedy that has nowhere else to go… eat it or fuck it the catch cry as

time perfume

my hands are pungent cupping my face I inhale golden ochre fills me my heart a newly forming bowl on the wheel moistened now by the rich echo of a smell I can taste forming still… I lick my hand and drive my time machine back to 1978 a hot summer with brittle trees against

salty feet

do apples move? they roll from palm to palm be an apple with skin to lick and pierce with crisp flesh that parts float like an apple in the bath or on the sea bobbing between my salty feet

to contain

so soft are the edges that boil and slide inside the copper a sweet fragrance like sugar or moist tobacco begging your tongue to heat it to bravely risk stringent addiction tasting and…. moving like a wild snake coiling intelligence looping and falling willing to swell in gravy waves grasping the rim like a mouth

E. YES

I open my eye S Eeeeee. E YES wiser and wiser