head quarters

the if that you and I share,
small licks of time that drip like ice cream in heat
-too quick-
and s l o w,
like thick, rich cream moves,
free to roll but wed always to the past, its aftertaste a sweet indulgence
when the present salty

sleep whale

compost

sentimental break
ing,
breathing, cracking
ex
hal
a tion

that paints a cover
thick like pancake batter we deep fry in the liquid of Forget.

oh, and I eat you
the sweet fruits of yesterday
and all the yellowing
auburn sunsets that last night cost nothing

and today I would sell
a crippled limb for.

cracking

and in the space
between seen
and how this heart reacts
I break like an egg,
cracking, splitting at the thought of your unbroken yolk
pulled

like a beast sung to while milking.
I pull
softly and strong,
hands caloused with fear
while your fluid emits, 
untasted and pure.

lap, lap, lap
the weak go on tasting
and with emptiness, he gives.
shaking hands beg
answered by a filling pail.

the monster loves his labyrinth

Imagism is about the passion for accuracy. To get it right, etc. But, it's not easy to get "it" right! A philosophical problem. Imagism is the epistemology of modern poetry.
                                                                                                         -Charles Simic

whisker brooms

I would trace your shadow in the sand were you with me

i carry you like a little green book

match

in a cadence reserved for lovers
or perfect strangers
you untwisted the lock
set the door ajar
and invited ambiguity for breakfast.

on the rocks

http://theinvisibledog.org/

gilt

ambrose tundra

sometimes I eat the sounds of words,
roll them on my tongue like a new lover
exploring the thick Cracks
and breathing delicate whispers into the soft spaces between pause while electric pulses
refuse
to
stop
even in the night

I wake to thoughts heavy like wool blankets
those shining eyes piercing even my dreams
and helpless, I find myself wanting to tell you
of your own influence
with recycled words.
for short of a new language
haven't we made love already
isn't it old already
vintage wine already in 2002

i  drink to you
kiss your being with my lips purple with lust
this moment pregnant with our silence

in a golden cage

existing on a plane
made relevant over airwaves
microwaving idol
a
try

swedish desert university

i'd rather be a whisper in heaven than a god in your cage