celestialparanoia

take some of the muesli right outta the carton. swallow. throat goes animal like a boy in siken’s poems except you are no boy and this is not poetry- there’s no litany in these crossed out calendar dates and no comfort in your 1000 arabian nights princess scheherazade, butch angel      all soft and tough in the wrong places,  all hushed laughter as rome falls. you are already holy- you are no fox, you are       more than crushed paper  and if your hands are an afterthought       at least you know                        foresight’s 20/20 – he had green eyes         so you wanted to      sleep with him st

  i sing the body electric                       ( to your touch ) in rhthms down                   stencilled streets we’d           lose nothing    &                                      own the universe; sapphic revolution at its zenith.                         not sure how we tumble together like                                 clothes in a drier                                         like drifting teenagers like                                     love letters written in forgotten languages  stitched & sealed lips.                        twenty three words ‘round soft and                gentle sunbeams s

{this is how it goes / the anger in the sky/ the noise in the clouds // the softness of a mouth- this is not love this is - an inferno - this is - anger - this is / her hands shaking around matchboxes / she is seeing red / she is being red / i refuse her like radio static- i hold her up melancholic - i dream of her in pink, in softened sunsets where these sharp edges and bright sparks will not devour anyone - and no, we were not in love / we were not in love / the world was blurry but the moment her fist connected with my face / i tasted gasoline / & right then right there / the wind was hot like a microwave oven / & everything was clear }

She showed up on my front porch at 4 o'clock in the chilly dawn, wearing muddy jeans and a bloodstained jacket. I recognized her immediately and my throat closed up with choking bad luck tears. This girl with vibrant teal ribbons in her auburn tresses was my serendipity partner in crime from the group home downtown where we spent our raging pre-teen years. "I've been in the dragon's den," she said when I invited her in. "The city's underbelly is full of dead pixies but I'm happy we survived," she continued with a torn smile on her lovely Eastern-European face, squeezing my hand warmly. Sometimes she could read my mind, as if my thoughts we

Loud voices bounce around like thunder, damaging the beautiful silence of nature. Townsfolk stand on the sidewalk with comical scowls on their mean faces, holding up signs spelling out hatred. October rain poured down on the tattered body beaten dry by the roadside. The boy whose character was smashed and innocence taken. His silvery skin caked with mud, Matthew lay forgotten in cowboy country. You killed him senselessly with ignorance and bigotry, had a hand in creating fear. But now the victim becomes an angel. Sun-streaked hair glinting beneath Marilyn's diamond song moon, his shale form unblemished, he rises to full height. Too stunni