Carmalain7

The moon stalks the stars, a high heeled pacing contrarian, whips a strapped sun behind a closed curtain; candle wax drippings, wiping splinters from our eyelids; safe word: our point of origin, we're all immigrants Martians rejected. Concrete wilderness, cellophane everything, ancestral memories and astral projection, cavemen circle cave-paint paintings as much an insult as high praise or a nose ring. In a not-so-distant past life I was Monet's painting easel leaving waterlilies daft to drift over to Greece or Modern chandeliers adorned with the bones of Renaissance patrons, gold-trimmed handrails, broken tiles on the ceiling, silver pitchforks placed astride the salad bowl, when Frankenstein’s Monster marks maybe, I expect a no-show. Please RSVP, we’ll take our samples, from your samples and fold napkin to a rose, light a candle to science, take your keys and let you go. Wouldn’t hurt to loosen clasps flip telescopes about, ban the night skies in Latin observe lullabies for

I’ve loan ed blood to soil ed hands violence that comes with a side of fries and a boy tearing or a boy tearing legs off a spider my blood ied soil stain ed hands a crack of jaw or smile splitting the face of a torn boy open with a side of stitching and ice cream or cry ing the seams seem to have come undone my blank et in soil ed hands violent like bruise d fruit or violet like eyes catch the light light I grasp at clasps that seal my lips shut like my jacket I leave on to hide that I’m not cold.

We are all puzzles, hands fumbling at crooked lines mouthing a smile out an alligator jaw; your knee, bent like cubes crooked or diamonds spilling out your mouth, tumbling over line breaks or spineless warpings of the poor posture, lasers slicing open your eyes, reveal transient tethers holding me to this life.

cater not to your need, the idle selectivism which uncrusts pizza desireables from undesire; no, cater to your whim, the robin instigating international incident: tipping my trashcan, upset waste framing a pocked alley. the robin implores me, act! place ropes 'round the waists of racists; marbled faces peer across Monument as if the monument is how strange it is to be here, why are you here? ...or, maybe the robin implores me, Act! eat more pizza discard more crust.

hair can be swept other ways like wind through a crop top or rain wearing my lenses out of fashion I, hold out my hand at arm's length, touch the face of God but not the handrail lining the path of salvation. caffeine is not casual one night stands a discarded mug half empty - or half full - today we are half empty. discarded mugs swept sideways under the sink my teeth in fashion, I shed my glasses on long windy walks so when I almost see pennies huddling together for warmth I do not stop I do not pick them up.

binary like plucking sunflowers in August collecting petals like sounds, I cannot make them. the foundation of you & I is a hefted brick, ivory poached from the carcass of suburban strip-malls. you sprawl like glass shards of the future we threw ourselves through a corner storefront window, where a concert piano sits silent expecting centre stage amidst us peddles dipping toes into pools of shattered glass and blood, reflect your face in my eyes, or maybe our past. blooms like bruises plead my heart stop petals for the touch of your fingers, keys to hammer through my chest a crescendo, la petite mort. the foundation of you & I is a blindfold of ebony like silence, I keep falling on deaf ears; collecting petals, I am the rain in April arriving to find you already dead.