Imprisoned

a couple a summers ago,
a physic young crackhead sold me a throat,

"dark frog you!" she croak.

desolate corner.street. fishy swamp soap trickles ovary
the fresh powder.

teeth chatter
and sweat feetsoak. down feather dank overworld whirled a paper tornado
of brown skin

i am bleached. it burns to be clean

as my colorless larynx
disruptured when she sang the crack song.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
another Saturday's Child

whitey gets the chocolate mopped from his cheek by his mother's
milk cloth
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
open for attack
widespread sleep. horror of observation.

stabbing her good-eye.
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in the desert

a man named joe

snow
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i am lesbian-man. love me.

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the muddy river
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a corpse's open eyes

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
jaundiced
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------scaring the black magic children.
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river.

a canyon.

wood ash and bleach stones
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
mix a Mandarin-Italian mutt

whose umbilical chord pulses in the white snow
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
my shivers are your shadows
three degrees below
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the point of human start sorrow
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------bone white as your snow
marrow
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
married to mine
in rich, cold blood-cell toffee.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
if you were to eat people,
who would you choose?

we took a portrait of the lamb before the sacrifice.
before the slaughter,
laughter
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a violent circumcision
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
or he is unclean.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
and I always, unable to unclean

between 6 white walls

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
twenty gunshots on the prairie

polka-dot hat
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------no police. he asks the woman why her husband lets her out.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
dead skin makes sex funner.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
a gold locket holds his dried foreskin to her chest
moon

The Direction

be multi-color if language bequit us
erratic cycles intersect
finite lines
polyhedron in their exactitude:

the limit

unable to stifle
thyself, nor for god.