Unlocked Rivers

My response to Rilke’s Duino Elegies. This is number Seven. over dirty feathers sand pieces and falling sun o crystal creature this droplet of flesh his humbled form talk is small small talk tiny talk lording over billowed heart huge rising expansive breaking tidal pushing midnight reaping clouds kissing imaginary moon balloon in my chest

emerging

  fissures in me in my skin in my density slices of hot light stretching tearing   me spaces sweet with glow i am slipping out through blades of woven grass curving between smiling grains of molten glass my breath is gilded time my flesh has split like pomegranate and I am sailing a slow

Intimate War

  desperate fleshly brush with fists and feet need this intimate lick of chi too close in the fight in the ring flames love loving them to the floor press against the energy red in the thigh arms that hold the thrill of bulging tempestuous control the moment of release as I succumb and tap

Nightingale Rapture

    She of female colour works a cherry path tripping rainbow wind and flaunting a song, the nightingale rapture… A bountiful traveller, her bowl swimming, a vagrant obstreperous kite. This leonine hue, this invigorated sunrise, she is yolk. Woman spills from her delicate fingers, impolite yet forgiven as it falls. She of 1000 clouds and velvet womb, a

Tango King

  Suave breeze whispers musssssk a journeyman a tango king… Moving hands rest split second above lace, gravity is his boy and flesh? Well…..flesh is warm as dimpled dough

The Missionary

  The skeptic, exiled early to a Willow tree. And now silver scales are held aloft, a lopsided trophy, sinking under dark art and muddy-bellied fear. Trembling psalms are heavy on liver and shoulders. He is crumpled under stone, glazed in grave confusion, dictating, amplifying, distance between, blood                      and