Friday, May 30, 2008

Access

I keep nothing here,
in this room.

No furniture, no pictures.

I like to look out
through the window,

imagine all the bodies
within my body,

which may or may not
exist.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Strake

Because you
came here dressed as a man,
in a shirt.

Because things keep slipping.
Shifting distinctions.
Hiding your desire for
alike.

Left adrift
you venture your throat
to a word that tightens
around the sounds you might
produce.

You surrender to your own story,
told. Mothlike
hands wide, slow
flapping,
in and
out.

An imprint held.
Curved like a bone.
Leading edge to foil.

To reveal where thoughts are
sinking.

A last glimpse,

until
it bores its way out.