sing a song of cows issuing a manifesto
the line prompts idiocy. the eye doctor
sees all & sez we learn to see. from birth
the bones rattle a death confinement. in
the forests grass stalks the night a forgotten
owl blind in flight navigates to northwest
in the eye of a needle. the red thread
twists the blood & bags the thumbs.
usually a peaceful god falls in pieces
then a piercing light in pursuit of literature
the phony night. honey voiced the dogs
& locked doors the hammer of god
prompts the epic. on friday at 9:00
between volkswagens & vitamin C
equals an eternity of measured plastic
notes. of hypnotism from. the voice.
To the east I rise, bald & thin skinned
Why fast food steals the night is
a chronicle of possible tasks.
It’s not sugar but slow divinity the Chinese
will talk & then god speaks.
There’s no spit like champagne when
I eat underwater lips.
It was a northwest stream pushing me on.
Seaward bound, also sleeplessness burned the candle.
I moved shadows of adjustment
& anonymous stock market tips.
I was playing with cyborgs.
Nothing brave happened, but the accused
final words were poetry.
In terror they sit among the statements.
Facts are bananas or manila folders.
There is love in numbers.
There is love among the spiders.
There is love in all cell phones.
The columnist spoke in straight lines.
There are misquoted shadows in the land
of murder, bordered by sunsets.
in bohemian other worlds where the snow comes
through the crevices of our skin
in torn down neighborhoods
we put our plastic bodies in the sun
we have sworn ourselves to the ravages of art
in our bohemian bloodlines
we shut ourselves outside the world
the bees are happy monsters
the sun churns us out like butter
our bones smell like blood
in the woodcuts we are descendents of deer
& feral smells there was no memory
in this we cleaned our houses of ourselves
we have burned our bodies
my love is in the shape of water & falls off rocks
in painful recovery
this is a revolution of a broken country
& pieces of blue the warp of strings changes
the fire on the canvas
we fill the planets with what we find
our bodies wearing angels dying from the light
darkness from the stones in fires we find ourselves
cymbals clashing in the catgut wails of violins
There is a ritual to being lost
I light the candles
I chase secrets within myself
I will eat raspberries & lose myself in mythic fingers
I should have been an angel with a flaming heart
There was nothing here when I announced my goddess form
My holiness got in the way of stained glass manifestations
Of fate until I broke
Sexuality is depicted as a penis hidden in the painting
They told us nothing
The earth’s lushness is a shopping mall & an 18 screen movie theater
I am the goddess of none
Of mutated seeds & stock market quotes
& perfect beauty
I am the goddess of self-absorbed prisons
In a theater of clowns
We are here with incomplete sentences
Our unconscious descent sprang from my mind
In the shapes of billions of monkeys
Otoliths, MIPOesias, Moria, Fact-Simile, GutCult,Cannot Exist, Eccolinguistics, and Reconfigurations, and Big Bridge among others. She recently won the Merida Poetry Fellowship that was awarded by the US Poets in Mexico. She has two books published: & cruel red (Otoliths) and silk string arias (BlazeVox Books). Contact author.
has been published in many online and print journals, including