Jackson

Your face of … everything. Hands: plain strength. Your houseful of angels        elbows and angles        feet in their cases        in all the wrong places Your boot on my heart, squeezing out blood        blood onto the page        blood into the world        blood all over the place Your mouth on my… Read more

Storm Sing songs: sweet bells in the night        the blackbird and the kite        the tree-ghosts in the white        the storm and the morning light        dark and light        black and white        string and kite all afternoon, all night. Sight Night is where we are.        Kite is what we are,… Read more

Imagine being his wife— with that voice singing for you, singing for the world, with that passion, breaking like desperate surf over the worn airwaves, singing about old lovers in candid metaphor. Imagine being his satellite of love with that black hair flying, those leatherclad thighs dancing onscreen. Imagine knowing all his weak places, his… Read more

princess woken, mouth blasted as she wanted, oxy- welded shut, lips melted together, hands smashed as she asked for, words torn out of her feel, princess Read more

I love them with a love        stored deep in my dreamvaults, with an ache kept fresh for them, transported across continents in huge trucks, unloaded. I lash them with a love unloaded. I love them with a crystal granite-solid,        slate-varied, diamond-surprising, water-precious; mined by monumental technology, created in multiple places, designed. I work… Read more

My poem Thank you was originally entitled “Prayer to Art”. What was I gonna say? Oh yeah, that how can I pray to Art? how can I feel that way when all around me things are crud. Mobile phones full of African blood and maybe guns in my diamond stud and hurt children becoming adults… Read more