1.Polka Dotted
Shed the skin you wear
It is the bone that interests me
The hushed soul,
The vessel smuggled by the
cupped hand hourglass
with seconds entwined like
fingers of love, breathed by
days bundled into an octopus arm,
blinking torchlight into shoulder shrugs.
A face criss-crossed with flower slits
and paper scraps with grandfather chair creaks
looks up into star roof with mice burns
as the world screeches to
a halt at a newborn hand’s paper mache.
Exhaled breaths always defy gravity.
2. Syncope
Full stop.The circle is a square.
I open the door and enter
seagull smile,my room inside
the orange balloon,
exploding like a creeper plant’s hiss
on false canopies of cold water,
the curling eyelids of Medusa’s tongue on the pin head,
the mirror scratching your iris
from the bottom of the glass.
3. Ruth
Sweat, the ripe water lunch
hangs from the daggers
imprinting faces
with freckles and wrinkles,
the skin’s perched albatross.
The knuckled wind from the apple tree,
the Narcissus of the miscarried cells
of adolescence,
stops by to drown in it.
Darkness scrubs the light
clean into Einstein mess.
4. Cemetery Song
Blurry handcuffs sit
on broken stones,
coffins burying water
beneath their
dampness squeezed
into ironboard chants
of the sunlit moon.
Horse hooves tire the grass
on which the crow sits
to soothe its chimney soot.
Light swallows
sobbing bedsheets
Petals on wrinkled faces-
Screaming mannequins.
5. Comma
the heresy of life,
stop to begin.
The dust burn colored legacy
between two exhaled breaths.
The room between
two owl bodied hoots.
Shed the skin you wear
It is the bone that interests me
The hushed soul,
The vessel smuggled by the
cupped hand hourglass
with seconds entwined like
fingers of love, breathed by
days bundled into an octopus arm,
blinking torchlight into shoulder shrugs.
A face criss-crossed with flower slits
and paper scraps with grandfather chair creaks
looks up into star roof with mice burns
as the world screeches to
a halt at a newborn hand’s paper mache.
Exhaled breaths always defy gravity.
2. Syncope
Full stop.The circle is a square.
I open the door and enter
seagull smile,my room inside
the orange balloon,
exploding like a creeper plant’s hiss
on false canopies of cold water,
the curling eyelids of Medusa’s tongue on the pin head,
the mirror scratching your iris
from the bottom of the glass.
3. Ruth
Sweat, the ripe water lunch
hangs from the daggers
imprinting faces
with freckles and wrinkles,
the skin’s perched albatross.
The knuckled wind from the apple tree,
the Narcissus of the miscarried cells
of adolescence,
stops by to drown in it.
Darkness scrubs the light
clean into Einstein mess.
4. Cemetery Song
Blurry handcuffs sit
on broken stones,
coffins burying water
beneath their
dampness squeezed
into ironboard chants
of the sunlit moon.
Horse hooves tire the grass
on which the crow sits
to soothe its chimney soot.
Light swallows
sobbing bedsheets
Petals on wrinkled faces-
Screaming mannequins.
5. Comma
the heresy of life,
stop to begin.
The dust burn colored legacy
between two exhaled breaths.
The room between
two owl bodied hoots.
