Darkness mirrors the blackness of these eyes
and they smolder two terrible fires.
Fracturing all gloomy cast with their light,
each one reflects the colourless cold skies,
map marking the route to lost desires.
Each one offset by whitened cheeks of frost
contrasting the finite furnace of night.
Rocking atop her blackened sea, her waves,
her eyes, immortal triumphs of the womb,
foreseeing in themselves both of their graves,
both cursed to know their folly and their cost
for peering far enough to see their tomb.

What foolishness drained black pools into tomb?
Whose treason bars in crypt her sooty eyes?
They bring who leers at them the warmth of womb,
without supplication and without cost,
set soft beneath the heft of darkened skies.
Who shuns and hides away their brilliant night?
Who’d snuff barely stoked forgotten fires,
meet heavy smoky flames with icy waves,
saturate and sap their bright warming light,
robbing the simple splendor of those graves,
sealed in the pale unhealthy sheen of frost,
and ravaging them of their desires?

Their safety belongs in all desires,
and a heart within that regretful tomb
lies dark, encased in a frigid glass frost.
It remains hidden from all summer skies,
shaded in the constant winter of night,
envisioning two empty winter eyes,
their pulsating obsidian fires
radiating-hot invisible light.
Shining from out the confines of their graves,
and nourishing thoughts as if in the womb
with no remonstrance, or thought of the cost,
all caution simply sinks below the waves.

Those cultured pearls engulfed in maddened waves
are somber-ed silent by their desires.
Drowning under infinities of night,
freezing into eternities of frost,
from icy-maelstrom crying, wept from skies.
Those frozen flakes find deep ocean as tomb,
en masse flurries swim in salt-frothy graves,
snuffing frozen, snowy, achromic fires.
That symphonic silvery truth, their light,
now swatted with a wetted hand, and cost
the world those subtle, lucid blackened eyes,
and cast them to a time before the womb.

“Approach life-waking moment in the womb!
Ebb-wash your cacophonous, unsure, waves.
Impend them as a masquerading frost,
shelter them from the threat of many graves.”
This hymn creates a soul behind two eyes,
steals about them as slurping tongue fires,
burns rays of Sun in shadow creviced night,
blazing sable across malfeasant skies;
they lay waste world in purities of light,
turning planet to devitalized tomb,
celestially quelling vast desires;
voiding universal value of cost.

Piceous onyx eyes know not the cost
they pay upon leaving protector womb,
pushed forth into bleak skirmishes of frost,
life’s debt dug out in front of them as graves.
Glib pits that frame a wilderness of skies,
tourbillion lace above brackish fires.
Earth rains on them in grim showers of night,
covering all but those stygian eyes.
Each specter sings from out their haunted tomb,
and reaching those framed spider webs in waves,
stains a fatal red on my desires;
their pyres birth a sanctity of light.

Aerial eyes on their flyways of light,
never cognizant of their precious cost,
doomed to be enclosed in the house of night,
striped from all directions by its waves.
The night then, it is their immanent tomb,
a sepulcher trapping her drusy eyes,
smothering their microcosmic fires,
suffocating those most beautiful graves.
Freeing them from hell would melt desires
made manacles by punishing frost;
that feeling that returns us to the womb,
stifling us under flesh magenta skies.

Remnant longing under her blush skies
fountain-ing with warm splashes of her light
turn universe to food within her womb,
removing phantasmal cold from the frost.
I place my own bouquet of desires
forever on her startled still-beat graves,
for endless worlds contained within her eyes
mix smooth sun-paint day & coarse sackcloth night.
And so to liberate them from their tomb,
un-phased by the gravity of that cost,
I comb massive landscapes of ocean waves,
to seek shelter in malachite fires.

Archaic method started her fires,
piled them up to oblivion skies,
and so challenged my own true desires
to nurture back those carefree loving eyes.
Let heart bathe long in that exquisite light,
let longing-love cascade down in brisk waves,
protecting from the prehistoric night,
that buried glowing sent from somber graves.
Make their bright earth resend me to the womb.
For this need there could be no obscene cost;
I’d still myself within that shadowed tomb,
I’ll shroud myself in rags of bitter frost.

But those black stars unlock me from my frost
with inferno dressing world in fires,
they’ll place me in the fragile of their womb,
soak me deep in the knowledge of their light.
I’ll swim in their feathery plush of waves,
quaff till drunk the pleasant wine of those eyes,
drink flames from breathless coals of night,
imbibing their dead ember desires.
And steeping in the shadow of her graves
I’ll cloak myself from vicious wintry skies.
And for this gem there cannot be a cost
keeping me from the solace of that tomb.

To spend forever in receptive tomb,
shielded safe from the unforgiving frost,
a thought that laps my shores with gentle waves.
To throw the chains off battened slaver skies
and dance free from the bondage of their light
does not contest with other desires.
Compare not beauty to that resting womb,
her ardent knowing sent from out those graves,
sustaining on the glow of those fires,
the world would disappear but for those eyes.
To try and find the sum of that bright cost
will just puzzle in multitudes of night.

The capacity of colourless night
a most brilliant, empty, familial tomb,
rendered helpless from its defensive frost
by doubled wall of invincible light,
a new born stare from out the dulcet womb.
Negligent of life’s magnificent cost
and virgin to all the Earth’s desires,
a calming sea of softly tossing waves,
under orange blanketed morning skies,
cradles her marvelous sailing fires.
Those pyres glisten as ritual graves
and burn forever; those furious eyes.

From out the tomb, from out the shallow graves,
in waves resonating from out the womb
in streaming white beams across the night skies,
light frisks and melts the frozen skin of frost,
and fires from the loveliest of eyes
repay the cost of all my desires.

Ruby Redbird

Behold a Ruby Redbird
by the diving board.
Clean upfront;
a stiff tart
the perfect thing
to taste on a dewy
summer Sunday.
Taken in a morning dip.
Sharing with you a half wet
Marlboro Lite. Not your brand.
Stale, moist, sour
and more a place marker
for one of yours
than a really friendly smoke.


The Bear By: Galway Kinnel from Body Rags, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1967).

In late winter
I sometimes glimpse bits of steam
coming up from
some fault in the old snow
and bend close and see it is lung-colored
and put down my nose
and know
the chilly, enduring odor of bear.

I take a wolf’s rib and whittle
it sharp at both ends
and coil it up
and freeze it in blubber and place it out
on the fairway of the bears.

And when it has vanished
I move out on the bear tracks,
roaming in circles
until I come to the first, tentative, dark
splash on the earth.

And I set out
running, following the splashes
of blood wandering over the world.
At the cut, gashed resting places
I stop and rest,
at the crawl-marks
where he lay out on his belly
to overpass some stretch of bauchy ice
I lie out
dragging myself forward with bear-knives in my fists.

On the third day I begin to starve,
at nightfall I bend down as I knew I would
at a turd sopped in blood,
and hesitate, and pick it up,
and thrust it in my mouth, and gnash it down,
and rise
and go on running.

On the seventh day,
living by now on bear blood alone,
I can see his upturned carcass far out ahead, a scraggled,
steamy hulk,
the heavy fur riffling in the wind.

I come up to him
and stare at the narrow-spaced, petty eyes,
the dismayed
face laid back on the shoulder, the nostrils
flared, catching
perhaps the first taint of me as he

I hack
a ravine in his thigh, and eat and drink,
and tear him down his whole length
and open him and climb in
and close him up after me, against the wind,
and sleep.

And dream
of lumbering flatfooted
over the tundra,
stabbed twice from within,
splattering a trail behind me,
splattering it out no matter which way I lurch,
no matter which parabola of bear-transcendence,
which dance of solitude I attempt,
which gravity-clutched leap,
which trudge, which groan.

Until one day I totter and fall —
fall on this
stomach that has tried so hard to keep up,
to digest the blood as it leaked in,
to break up
and digest the bone itself: and now the breeze
blows over me, blows off
the hideous belches of ill-digested bear blood
and rotted stomach
and the ordinary, wretched odor of bear,

blows across
my sore, lolled tongue a song
or screech, until I think I must rise up
and dance. And I lie still.

I awaken I think. Marshlights
reappear, geese
come trailing again up the flyway.
In her ravine under old snow the dam-bear
lies, licking
lumps of smeared fur
and drizzly eyes into shapes
with her tongue. And one
hairy-soled trudge stuck out before me,
the next groaned out,
the next,
the next,
the rest of my days I spend
wandering: wondering
what, anyway,
was that sticky infusion, that rank flavor of blood, that
poetry, by which I lived?

Abbiamo Fatto Mai Amore

Light moved
slowly in
thick, fatigued,
grainy, sepia
Reflecting vaporous,
weaving,  ghost-hands.

Rum wet,
Awe as a
little liquor
down breasts.

Trembling, sensing
phantom limb,
dying to be touched.

Mortal hands
I’m caught a midst those russet wells,
She sings:
“You’re Fresh”

Approaching Her Blind

She is eyeless.
Thickets of downy
corby-jet crown her.
Purple bull’s-eyes
curtain her eyeless voids.

Empyrean wells
of violet-black
abyssal noise,
leave hollow sounds,
winds howling in the tunnels,
of her soulless soundless joys.

Behind them through her
shadowed attic
marched forgotten toys,
Abused and broken,
un-cared for by naughty
girls & boys.


T♠ the Lady ♥f Flies


I say to the lady of flies,

“Let freezing black night skies strafe
your glowing chambered eyes;
stirring maelstrom-universes,
your blameless silvers shine.
They melt a stricken heart,
There it lies…

Fracture black oblivion to stars a pinhole size,
make them stare at you forever,
until their flicker dies.
Disenchant celestial bodies as they set and rise,
pulverize them all to star dust with those soundless cries.”

Frosted jet black eyes peer as chambered incandescences.
Painted, tourbillion universes;
Silver pearls whose innocence tears as she weeps,
Freezing hearts,
their blood retreats.