to mars direct

to mars direct

vermillion veins and canals
of mars's rivers run dry.
beds of fossilized lifeforms
crumble to dust
in the whipping, erroding wind.

f-u-c-k

f-u-c-k

fuck the sky
and the birds that fly in the sky

fuck the lake

fuck the trees
why do they lose their leaves every year

fuck the roof of this building
and the snowflakes that fall so softly i can't hear them
even if i press my ear to the wall
and listen to the grinding gears
that hum and sway

fuck the stars
that i can't see because i'm inside
and it's day time anyway
and the sky is overcast

fuck my left sock
because it's got a small hole
and i can feel the shoe as i slide my foot
and rearrange my body

fuck the telephone
that rings rings rings all day and night
because i refuse to answer

fuck the grass
that icy frozen pussy
coats with snow and doesn't
ask about tomorrow

fuck my rage
because it feeds itself
and me

I held it truth, with him who sings

I held it truth, with him who sings

do you whisper with leaves
dead and whirling in wind?

i woke up this morning
and missed you although
you'd spent the night
tangled in my arms
like tree branches bare.

crystal teardrops sharp as knives
cut my face,
but will tomorrow be the same?
glass lodged
in my eye with no beauty to behold.
hatred
like a contact lense
that lets me see and makes me see.

and this morning makes
my glaciertears melt
leaves lakes of lusting
that sunrise will
mean a new day


The title of this poem comes from In Memoriam A.H.H. by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

under a gunmental sky

under a gunmental sky

rain attacks in wet, heavy drops
like little bombs from heaven.
angels at war with earth
fling drops like stones from slingshots.
the warmachine clicks on
with a rumble of sootblack smoke.
under a gunmetal sky
no one's sure if they exist
or are merely passing through
strings of todays like pearls
on a princess' neck.

The title of this poem comes from "Touch Me" by Stanley Kunitz.

And because it is my heart

And because it is my heart

black beats stomp crimson
you are my tomorrow

yesterday's flowers drop petals
on the mahogany tabletop
shining with pledge.
i press my tounge to the wood
licking bitter lemon cleanser
and leave a streak
that will have dried
by morning.

once, the roses were new--
unpricked thorns of unpicked beauty--
and now they rest in the
vasegrave of cobaltblue.

you murdered something beautiful for love.


The title of this poem is from "In the desert" by Stephen Crane.

if he christens me indiscriminately

I've got a new idea for a series of poems. Similar to the poem off that MrZack and I were involved in over the summer, I am going to take my titles from published poems. I'm hoping that I can write at least three poems a week in this manner.

if he christens me indiscriminately

semen crusted condoms
lining trashcans of indeterminate size.
i'll give you a prize
if you can guess how many condoms
are in that bag
before i take out the trash tomorrow morning.

The title of this poem comes from "His Maculate Erection" by Bryan D. Dietrich.

comfort film

comfort film

greenline bus pulls up with a pffft
and there you are
wind tossing your hair
like chaotic salad