this is a serenade
to red high heels
pony ass

this is a serenade
to bruises and brokens
beatdown ass

D.H. Lawrence
rocking horse
queer and haunting like 1922
(you know you know)
opium ass

once upon a time
said an indigo stick
said a two-day moth
said a limp wristed cragg

this is a serenade and i haven’t been able to sleep and my armpits are sweaty and i smell like a woman like a woman like i never meant to smell all cunt and musk and underbreast wet and this is a serenade to cliff dives and muffdives and holiday hills
this is a serenade and i forgot where i began and my mind double tracks and loses tracks and never used to be like that and they’ll say one day they’ll say oh she’s smart as a whip (beatdown) she’s sharp as a tack well how’boutthat oh they will say that when i shake and applesauce drips from lips and the kids volunteer to take me for a walk (pony ass)
so i can’t help that all i think about is death queer and haunting like 1982 queer and haunting like naps when i should be living crying fucking dying blahblahblah

this is a two day moth
dusty and broken
heaving into the cracks in my hands
into lifelines
into palms
who cradled and curled
and stuffed and suckled
and all the other wonders of hands
and now
tattered wings disintegration
and dropping my eyelids in
i crush moth-pillow
all mine
rocking horse
all mine
distant memories
maladies and serenades
so thorax and exoskeleton
and quashed into lashes and hanging from my eyelids and amphibious tongue reaches (pony ass)
and all kohled up and sexy i’m ready to greet the world
i’m ready to meet my maker
i’m ready
(beatdown)

A remix with thanks to Chuck Mee, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy & Cheyenne Mize

Sometimes
I drive past your house
your apartment
the park where we went on walks
the bench where we sat
a tree
pockets
of fresh air
and breath deep.

I haven’t washed the pillowcase
or the sheets
since you left
and I wont.

This is how I survive.

And I remember the time
we were finishing our lunch in a garden
on a hill above Lyons.
It was in June or July and hot
and someone suggested that we take off all our clothes
and jump into the pond.

I could hear Andre saying
his girlfriend would be with us in just a minute
but his voice sounded muffled
through the shirt I already had over my head
and then,
in the end,
no one went in the water.

Andre fucked me first
slowly
and calmly
which was his way.
And then Paco came and took his place.

today
crushed into the folds of my cunt
are three slips of paper
one with your name (of course)
one with mine
and one with the name of my god
the one with your name was written with my blood
the one with my god was folded neatly and then twisted and thrust
forced open by the fingers of the divine
held open there by my own
fucked softly by the fingers of the divine
held open-hearted with my own thin hands
the one with my name was written in invisible ink
and dropped into my own development
before i sat on it and it slipped

so here i am full
so full
fucked into constancy
it’s the little dirty secret behind my smirk
that i am always pulled open
sipping tea
waiting on people
buying groceries
talking to you
erotic and uncomfortable and full
with you with me with the name of my god
cleaning my house
returning calls
with you and with me and with the name of my god
meditating
driving
writhing
walking to meet friends
with you
with me

so here i am full with burning
with three slips of paper dripping out of me
and you can’t fathom what i know
what i know
here i am full
and you can’t fathom what i know
sipping so full
waiting with writhing
walking with burning
sipping so full

today i crave

today i crave heavy darkness and cool mint tea

today i crave heavy darkness unsalted
and cool mint tea

cool mint tea unsweetened and spaghetti thoughts of you
thoughts of you bending through my psyche and under my skin
warm vascular you warm my interior surfaces
the planes of my body
ablaze with your drunken desires
defeat those fireworks baby
they just crackle like you
like you like your fingertips
twisting at my elbows my hips my recesses
you pound into me the beat
of pulsating balance
of anxiety
of meat and potatoes
cold beer and hot sex
you know how to do it

all over the litter on the floor
the lowest plate on my back
bruised from you squishing
screwing your fingers
into my deepest recess
rightie tightie
left alone you unloosen me
now fucked out and careless
panties smeared with your taste
the sunlight is hotter
the sweet tease of the trees fresher

today i crave the way the radio is more true
my quiet meditations more wholly
more utterly fearlessly
humbled
i put my face to the ground
my butter in the heavens

melting like butter
she drops her graces onto me
mercies onto my bruise
this has so much to do with you
and yet last spring and this autumn it had everything to do with me
i know that
so you
and me
we’re riding sidesaddle through the boxes of the days to October’s first dawn
it’s then that on the overlook
on the precipice as you say
in the drizzle of careless yesterdays
we may share on full real deal kiss on liponmylips
that smacks of November of even December

but its Tuesday and i get ahead of myself

right now it’s you over there

me: spaghetti thoughts and daily cravings here
twisting thoughts of you in the winds of my mind
you sway
this way and that
chiming in and out of focus
if it weren’t for the butter
the heat
the grace

of every moment
we may not notice that divinity is whispering herself hoarse at my shoulder
scraping her teeth against my fingertips
she’s here and when i’m not
occupied by you
laid siege to by my incessant you
wavering
tripping though my winds
i’m obsessed with her foreverness
her constancy
perhaps that’s all we mean by divinity
that which we know to be there
to be there and ever-changing

you think i’m a genius and sometimes i think you’re a mess
in my eyes we have a lot in common
a lot more common than our locking horns
and beating the hard dirt with our hooves
rather beating into each others’ softness
til we’re a little stronger again

so again
i don’t write
i just crave
love poems
wistful letterbox hearts
birdhouses of you swaying in the branches
through my winds
nests of you dropping from my limbs
snarled twigs resting in my creviced places
let’s just find each other therelet’s unwind the pieces of twine knotted into our fingers
let’s drop our dried yellow leaves
press blossoms out our lips
trip roots through the earth and for the sake of goodness

drink cool mint tea
drink cool mint tea with me today
for i crave
the heavy dark shade of your limbs
the sweet spaghetti strings of our conversations
and the cool divine restlessness
of all of this

you and me and annie oakley
you could be her sidekick and i could be her horse
or when i whisper
i’ll just be her thighs and you could carry her rifle
i know you desire her
wild mustangs and sunset dusts
stars seen though the rough pocket
of the campfire i’ll carry on my back
from independence, missouri

you be her lover and i’ll be your beast of burden
she could ride side-saddle
but you could just
straddle
straddle
i’ve got flesh to tear like an offering
we’ll find intimacy in your spurs
spurned and rejected
that’s how i show my love

and you and annie oakley
spent the night together
lovers
and i collected evidence and quartz crystal
i dreamed about you and awoke hopeful
greedy and sleepy
and jonesing for coffee
coffee-stained stretch marks and suede sleeves
that’s annie oakley, i remark
i’m hushed with a pull
you spun the pinwheel and i shat rivers
she snapped her fingers
we shook hands and called it a deal
you call it a day by allaying your gold-rush, good-fortune touch

and the agreement was

camp was cooked
and prairies were devoured
you chewed on your coffee
and i panted and watched
and slid wax through her braids
she cuddled with you, little pet
i shivered the cold on my shoulders
alone
on watch
counting coyotes and horned owls
Luna waxes fat onto my haunches
in the secret moon-night light
i’m annie oakley’s girl but Luna’s secretly my queen
she fills my open wounds
mutters warmth on the back of my neck
and wanes before the day
catches us at play

Stripping down all the fuck
we’re not left with much
what?
a show
a show of who you want to be
and me?
me, i don’t know how to be
in the show of you and me
and that’s why you went
(before you went)
because the show was clearly over and
the fishnet was empty and
the lockdown was dry

i think my life would just be better if
i knew spanish or
did more peyote or
practiced my guitar but
instead
six weeks later
i still haven’t
i still haven’t
plucked my feet up from the sand or
learned that song but
i followed through
i followed through

i sank into the bed this morning and woke up in a snowstorm and
deep in me
deep down to my cunt
in knew the time had come
(the time has always come, but of course you know that,
now’s the time, right, now’s the time?)
well it was like the old fog was gone and
a new fog was here
a fog i could live with
inspired by specks
i can tweeze out and
embellish
the old fog
the old fog of crushed potential
it’s left
crushed into the folds of my cunt
(i always find if i get stuck in a poem
just pull out my cunt and
it’s like a parachute
an easy exit sign
the aisle floor lights of the airplane directing me to the yellow slides of the next line
it’s the catch-all theme
and what has it caught?
well, avid pupil,
dilated and eager-beaver,
it has caught the cottony fog fuck of yesterday’s yoke)

i mentioned the other day that all she eats, freulein, all she eats
is chambord and sugarplums

wait i mean

i menstruated the other day that all she eats, freulein, all she eats
is champagne and shrink-wrapped smarties
slipping temptation and sour onto her tongue, freulein, onto her tongue
it’s the perfect marriage

forgive me for sleeping in—
right into the snowstorm—
i was waiting on you and
you
you emerged
as a fog and
i, your faithful servant to the end, freulein,
to the end…