April 2016
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Thine Name On Un-important Papers
*Image found HERE Thine Name On Un-important Papers The power of the written word commands the stray cat not to touch the milk. You watch over the water levels, thirteen witch doctors with their breasts perched below, pulling the trapezoid outwards into a bruised bush of hydrangea. It is written, somewhere; someone weeps quietly,… Continue reading
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Exile
*Image found HERE Exile And miles to go before I sleep, the road tears asunder the rowan from the elder, the road a de-limbed arachnid its black mucus the bread of night. Sound perches from the woodland, the woodland that’s timid, scorned, scorched, oblivious, there is no woodlands in my bedroom, there is the… Continue reading
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The Weeping Lyre
*Image found HERE The Weeping Lyre My bronze hips, my bone throat, my wooden lung, ivory scar, my endless red notes- He gripped me in his palm, a bent rib of god, a haunting voice of his beloved. He watched her, coiled, rooted to a wet, dead ground – under his arm, we sojourned into… Continue reading
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Anamnesis
*Image found HERE Anamnesis Distilled inside second-hand china, the cartilage remembers the bruised body where the sparrows built their hawthorn houses. The bunker in which all disintegrated, where I bled out a noon from my thighs, gave birth to July, mourned with the marbled, white statue, about the lack of daisies. The hills I’ve climbed… Continue reading
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My Morena
*Image found HERE My Morena My morena, maker of malady menageries, meticulous mollusk, mist mannered marinating mirrors. Meandering meadows, mimicking Metatron milking marigold mornings. Murmuring mills, my melancholic mongrel, mending minstrels – moaning marrow. My measly minnow – mapled, married manufacturer, maker, mild master, marshal. Moon man made manifest – madman mourned. Macadam maroon, misunderstood,… Continue reading
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On Carnations
*Image found HERE *Will update with translation On Carnations All around me men are walking, your guillotined head sticking from their pockets. Mother’s rubies, snuck from the jewel box in spring, young girls offering their hearts on palms to Proserpine, their innocence tucked like a pink heartbeat between your cymes. I salvage the bodies of… Continue reading
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Szechuan Chicken
*Image found HERE *Translation is below Szechuan Chicken Because I am the village witch and I watch the mint traverse seven liquids to soothe a wasteland yet everything inside my belly is still a junkyard of stars, flickering like broken, pilled up shattered lanterns with no light-maker around to give them new eyes. If darkness… Continue reading
About Me
I don’t mind the sun sometimes,
the images it shows,
I can taste you on my lips
and feel you in my clothes.
Cinnamon and sugary
and softly spoken lies,
you never know just how you look
through other people’s eyes
Newsletter
Recent Comments
We all go back to sand in the end. I like the word play in this.
Thank you so much for reading and for the heartfelt comment, I always love when my poems are likened to…
I think we do remember, in both instances, just that sometimes the fearful ones are remembered perhaps without our will…
Thank you so much, I am glad someone else can remember their first mango, or any other fruit really. I…
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Color me in Cyanide and Cherry 
Thank you, and indeed we do.