My thoughts are only
of your eyes when
you said you loved me
and I believed you.
I can trace the outline
of your iris in my mind,
piercing blue like static
electricity. As you scuff
your feet across shag
carpet and touch
something metal,
the shock dulling
nerve endings long
enough to forget
how cold the surface
is underneath.
Breathe me.
Part your lips,
draw me in
deeply.
Hunger for me,
want me,
I am all
you require.
Taste me.
Lick my salt,
I lie thick
on your tongue,
like ash spewed
from a volcano.
Feel my tremors,
thirst for me
in the desert.
I am like rain,
I will wash
you clean.
See me,
watch me
love you.
Close your eyes,
feel me enter
the temple.
Love is religion.
Religion first appeared in [i]Coil Magazine[/i].
Explosions varumpf
across red clay valley,
tongue-fucking my ears.
Micro jet loops,
carves new hole
in earth’s shoulders.
Sound delayed by distance,
sight not far enough.
Monsoon rains death,
but cannot cleanse.
Addictions birthed here,
reunions in hell gather here.
Heroin high,
never been lower.
Mama san knows,
gums betel nut;
red mouth, no teeth.
Smirking,
we will all go,
one way or another.
I fly away, never leave.
Phu Cat, Vietnam-1970 first appeared in [i]Coil magazine[/i].
Life has had its way with me.
I am exiled,
to a chair in this hotel room,
counting lines in wallpaper.
Lines so straight, sharp
you could shave with them.
Imprisoned with me;
vertical cellmates.
My life revolves around me,
gliding along walls.
Resignation
brings retreat,
refuge,
in the written word.
I rise above,
free from form,
look down quiet,
velvet halls
leading to a lobby
full of strangers,
checking out,
resuming lives
I have not lived.
Exile in Room 101 first appeared in [i]Coil Magazine[/i].
ahh christ
the horse bleeds like
something you almost
remember
stumbles away from the teeth
towards the light
and by the time you arrive
it’s all over
the throat vanished
the flies beginning to gather
the song all but
forgotten
the carnage rises up
swarms against your eyes like
one of your father’s stories
from viet nam
like your mother or
even better
your sister
how many years ago?
four at least
maybe five
left arm broken
two teeth gone and still
she wouldn’t call
the police
said she loved him
said she loved
the next one too and
the one after that and
the bruises were clouds in
an autumn sky
the sky was
a pack of dogs circling
the sun
was something you
never managed to forget
and then this horse dying
in the here and now and
all you can do is
watch
all you can do is wait
your life up to this point
the small frightened
dream you always
knew it would
be
fuck this idea of
poetry reaching back to
embrace the past
i will not worship
the martyred or the immortal
it’s enough to be stuck in
this town of defeated old men
as they shuffle aimlessly
up and down anonymous streets
it’s enough to watch the
factories burn
and i have driven in every direction
and i have seen nothing but
more of the same
and i am only waiting for the news
that reagan is dead
i am only waiting to hear
from a friend
who hasn’t written in a decade
that all is forgiven
and i have a job that will never be
anything worth describing
and i have a son who will someday
want nothing more than to
escape his father
what i give you hear is a
pale blue november sky bleached to white at the edges
the drone of a plane and the
sound of wind through bare trees
and there is a house of
delicate bones in this picture
that i call my home
there is a river that holds
the body of
a fifteen year-old boy
it doesn’t bother me that i’ve
outlived him
but maybe it should
