Pictures

your memory is fading
like the ache in my chest,
so sharp and clear
in the present

your face is a blur in my mind
the way your deep eyes sloped downward
in a submissive dip
like the corners of your mouth
held in a closed smile,
inverted

fluttering against my cheek
a rejection
a reaction
a futile attempt at
breaking the laws
of physics

the feel of your skin
the breadth of your chest
the set of your lips
the smell of your neck
the bend of your nose
the the contortion of features
as i told you
i needed no time

the whispers of encouragement
the words of assurance

the pain in my hand, as you squeezed it
once we saw the red lights flash
and heard the grimace of man made machine

the depth of your voice
as you moaned your desire
and the lowered groan when i
was good

the grasp on my hips,
closer to smother

and your base desires
that mean nothing

to you

the print of red lips
on smooth, white
is still there, bright

though the pinch you have
has faded

please lie to me

please have believed my lies

i want the power
to crush you

please give it to me

eventuality

your skin was soft against my fingers
ran in silent whispers down the planes
of ribs and cartilage and muscles
and your face would peer at me between the
soft curves of my thighs
your sloping, sad eyes dark,
pupils wide with wonder
as the seeping dampness spread from
your mouth
to arrive eventually
in an uncomfortable throb
where i knew it would
end up all along.

contact

opened, forced
clenched between the teeth
eyes shut tight
you must gouge them out
i will never look again

F48.1

Slow and buzzing,
like a hive of bees.

Dull and low,
pounds and grows. 
The sights and sounds
so real?

Grab a stick,
take a swing.
Poke the swarm
into a frenzy.

But still the honey
is not tasted.
The liquid sticks
and chokes.

Still the sting
cannot be felt.
There is no inflammation.

Lights come on -
image fading from the screen.
The seats are emptied.

"Touching!
Heart breaking!"

Make a mantra,
move the mouth.

Motions followed -
make it feel.

But panic plays,
pleased from pretending.
Yes, it is broken.

The next reel
will make real.

Exit,
unaffected.

bone dry

"a little bit abrasive"
sawdust for skin!
excuse me my rough edges -
but these walls are so thin.
-- folding in so quickly
your palms fill with sores!
a countenance so sickly
revealed to the core.

in the sky

it was not a castle
but simply air
- and the ruby seeds
crushed between teeth
cast no glamours
- there are no shackles
you are free!

watching

penny glistens
bird-boned
counting ridges
thin wrists
blue veined
traces
i follow

who

the husk was left
and papered crackling
smoothed the air -
now the spirit moves -
but can it enter?

on knowing

rusty nails to free
the taste in
lock-jawed palates:
the ring around
knobbed twigs -
brittle and
sanguine
- unfurls

my favorite names

(in recent memory - subject to change):

Nico Muhly

Coincidence that he's also one of my favorite musicians/composers? Probably not.

Which leads me to a rather perplexing and consistent occurrence: Why do all the incredible musicians have absolutely eye(ear)-catching names?

Case in point:
-Kate Bush
-Fiona Apple
-Jeremy Enigk
-Johann Johannson
-Frederic Chopin
-Christian Fennesz
-Olivia Lufkin
-Brian Eno
-Philip Glass
-Steve Swallow
-Carla Bley
-Scoutt Niblett
-Maurice Ravel
-Philip Larkin (ok, poet - no need to nitpick)
-Jozef van Wissem
-Meredith Monk
-Modest Mussorgsky
-Randy Greif
-more I can't think of at the moment

Ok, so most of these people A) are foreign, B) have been dead for several centuries, or C) have pseudonyms. But still. I sometimes wonder if they just woke up one day and -- feeling the crushing weight of their designated monikers-- said to themselves, "I must live up to my name!"

my favorite words

-*unfurl*
-unravel
-insidious
-ephemeral
-austere
-sublime
-dusk

The fact that they all possess some level of atmospheric quality is pure coincidence. Maybe. They're also incredibly fun to pronounce.