Jackson

Here is my labyrinth mind: invade it with your memes My framework hands: wire them to your dreams My blank memory: load it with your sin My acrylic skin: crack it with your convoluted pain My desert eyes: wash them with your rain My blood: to melt in light Smacked face: track to grace Soul:… Read more

Saying in our boxes, your small and private name In our houses. We light a candle, shed a tear, be silent. In our places. All we can do. We wish through the walls and the wires for medicine to help you for mother’s soft palms to arm you with magic for family to shield you… Read more

He is uber-explosion: his faces on bus-stops, bodies on screens, mind on view. She is a photograph taken with him at the Oscars. She is moon, murmur, faint amid all his so-bright sunlight, solar wind. She is muse, murmur, focus, fathom, theme. She is the moon of the glow in his dream. There are marks… Read more

She in his house and I in his house. She in his bedroom and I in his basement. Her hands are white and smooth mine red and rough Hers touch silk and linen mine wood and water. She has a secret but I have a bigger one. She feels his skin but I wash his… Read more

I CARE FOR NOBODY says the shirt. $60. 10 identical. 600 blankstare dollars. Fucked, ripped, empty 2005. 1976 shirts said CRASS or ANARCHY. Ripped—but not in Chinese sweatshops. Who cares for nobody? The corporation. “Anger is an energy” If I can’t have love give me hate. First published in Poets Corner anthology Read more

Don’t be ashamed. I too am hanging on these words and pauses, each a choice precise portion. Don’t be ashamed: I too am looking for details, backgrounds, grace notes, accidents— each a mistake deliberately left. Don’t be ashamed. Did you ever hug a book? I did. Ever lay your warm hand on cool printed gloss,… Read more