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>The photo’s shallow focusEminence; A crepuscular grain of stoicismLitters the simple portrait, unadornedWith background yet clutteredIn grey tones of cotton, four ivory buttonsOne beside its perch.Refusing the portraitist’s loveHis shorn fingernails long-ago grazedPreposterously upon the subject’s left cheek.Subject, accepted, as 3 million eyes removeRecast the ambulant crown of jackal’s fur.

>To think rain then see the umbrellaUnafraid ofConfident inIts huge freckled beautyAquiline and staring deeplyRed breast-sized dropletsSlapping the evening airWide painterly halo, impossiblePinkish-flesh surrounding the street lamps’Pulsing head. NeverBelieve such things, even whisperedAtop a long-sallow, sworn-upon pillowAs they were, on many tender nights. Gut softness exposed to cross fingernailsOf moonlight, here things are more realisticAnd…

>I don’t want to play dress-upin my beautiful skin & now behindpowdered teeth I am wailing for happinesssee, already under a shroudso why bisect with a tie Or stomp out the sun with the false curl of a hatwhy the heels, toes cut outnot waiting, wailing Nothing done with a smile nor easilynude practicality &…

>there is no learningonly the watch andsea, desperatepaddling & constrictions (wind, sharks, hunger& their very thin relationsbut this cold ungiving night) not shackles butendless, star-filled skypregnant & bending horizon’s breath the chill a childmistakes for deathon the back of his neck.

>the math is simpleif i think feminineeven in the negative,first i’ve thought feminine your calculated gamblehas worked, you cannotunsee this penny: headsor the bird, its lucknow yours.

>”Don’t make this about youAnd your ‘Cartoons.’ Your inabilityTo function on human planesIs what renders us untenable.” X. “No, no, no, I see all the sameShapes and colors, I get it. I seeThis Mickey Mouse head-shape andThat drunkish pigeon. And the …” X. “And the themes, the repeating squirls,Floating around like lazy smoke. WhoGives a…

>the definite bisection is imaginedand there are no poppies, signifyingnothing. indifferent men hushthen drain over obscured mouths in this placeno decision flesh tensing, as urgent lights spunkicked off brick beside the sandand oil, lacking comportbisection still of nothing in this placeno decision many-whirled pink existence, theymust not be souls or even poppiesthose of us who Are…

>As the physicality of night/dayslips further away, a little nowa little more tomorrow, the air its promise hungrily eatsknowing there are other waysonly to put on countless pounds of crushing weight soft, heavy flaps wet on chestsas pressure-in upon the ears, as hairknotted fingers, powdered teeth on the tongue searches for then creates casualty.

>When poets don’t have a thing to sayIn the way of segue or endingThey talk to trees: Oak, Pine, Poplar, Spruce Doesn’t matter what they meant to sayAnything that shudders and drop seedsWill attend, fetishizing Whitman The metaphor gets contrived, conceited& the direct rebellion against it, solipsismShoves the reader into first person’s moth-eaten closet A philosophical…

>There was something I meant to sayAbout how my sexuality is like your sexualityAbout the rusty, blood-warm nails pounded throughmy sexuality, your sexuality But I cannot remember precisely what I meant to sayBeside that bit about my violence, your violence.