| Skeletal PastureTeach a tongue to speak a language massacre for human foliage to decorate a fungal mind paintings torn their mustard sky, hangs above the royal base a figure trapped in history’s race man in death and the broken son, burn a face for everyone to crawl and choke and hesitate a flaking mould, transparent fate feeds a lie a blackened smile tantric teeth skin and bile but when the feet walk the earth a pulse is sparked a faint rebirth to resurrect and recreate bodies strong, regenerate paternal warmth from cratered holes of landscapes scarred by hooded moles who pat the soil with a spade cocoons of blankets, the masquerade can fade to dark and remain on paper colour heralds the new creator with brailed words for a tongue a kiss so soft let it run, a way to sleep in a palm satin lined in cradled arms.Stain-Glass Polaroid My tears and blood swim pastel pink I’m pregnant a thought a feotal imprint stuck, in sand and wind and wet and salty froth, of fractured hands I paint strangle-paint with concrete hair a cramp in breath, butterfly drown fill with melt, hot like wax, thick between legs of fashion to be vacant, in a warehouse sex flashes, pours sun on eyes grins with bubbled spit, dissolve thrown, shattered mirrors against metallic, black holes to swim, taste the cold, screams in winter freeze. Cradled Arms A worm like thread to cross a Nile place a tick within its aisle a pew in someone’s altered sleep a reading faint amongst the heap, of tired mouths chapped and burnt blistered gums to fill a word, of mute confessions in a box, that rotten oak betrays the locks so battered bruised and empty handed the singing dead marked and branded.A Tribal DrumDeaf, of needles that thrust nectar bursts alive with a splash that feeds like starving mouths on bloodied limbs, that pile high, a fire to burn of splintered wood, leaves red like clay, dry, cracked to build a house of opera a nocturnal beat a herd of punctured minds, that scream with air waves swirling gushing a storm, of thumping fists against walls of a muse, head forced under water swallowed ice cold drowned floating in a borrowed sea. Little Soldier Sit on rocks cold like ice tears skin baby flesh cut flesh to count the rings school shorts suck at thighs hide bruises like plums poisoned black numb face powder white beaten to silence by fists of hate, socks pulled up shoes dangle leather hard. Rusted eyes count the birds they used to count, when salty wet of tongue that laps at feet of giggles running away with shells in buckets for warmth and jumpers and hands through hair curled in a lap a nest of a giant with shoulders high to see the world. Starve My arms a prune, moist that feeds worms, slither in and out with claws that scratch teeth bite tendons they’re dormant I lie on the bed and wait I’m naked clothes ripped off high heels, red in the corner hurry up! His wallets full to feed the teeth I’m Linda with a smile and a prolonged breath he’s an officer, im a secretary, waitress nurse with a hat the room stinks of piss he slides on they start to wake inside me he has a stupid grin a glazed look, staring transfixed on breasts I close my eyes let him proceed they’re turning I’m a secretary the worms are licking he’s pounding beads of sweat are trickling down his balding head onto the pillow I’m a mermaid I can hear two girls in the hallway hands clapping voices rhyming “girly, girly, comb you hair for the new boy waiting there” it reminds me of school my sister, friends teasing me about my fringe in grade four he’s touching my face They’re scratching they’re hungry, “he’s so sweet with golden locks shirt and tie and school-boy socks” I’m thinking of summers sticky lemonade He’s groaning, breath smells like beer they’re writhing tearing veins they’re feeding, growing fat There are more children in the hallway laughing, clapping I remember my first netball games my old rocking horse they’re stretching tearing tendons gorging, fighting for scraps my arm’s pounding, thick hot the claps are getting quicker “but what she wants in his pants a golden ring a new romance” I never touched the horse, scared it might break, but then I rode it all the time when I grew older my arm’s raging they’re mating, multiplying there’s thousands churning, they’re molten lava teeth ripping flesh shredding skin There’s no clapping there’s a grunt he’s done they slow, relax let go of flesh he nudges me to the side black body hair scratches my skin, there’s puss he gets comfortable sweaty mass, fat, pale he sleeps my pocket’s full they can rest. |