Tweet
Tweet
Sandstorm
She walks colonial and monstrous,
cloaked in sandstorm and prophecy—
fallen men at her feet
who tried to weather the storm and pluck
cranial verbs from skeletal clouds whirling
around her Death’s head
like winged, almond scented plague—
embracing and breaking bodies
of knowledge
for Her amusement.
Rejected Cartoons by: Don Hertzfeldt
(Source: youtube.com)
שקט
לאחר שהחובשים נעלמים,
לאחר שהשוטרים מסיימים
את מטר השאלות
ואחרונת הניידות מתרחקות,
אתה נשאר לבד עם אישה שבורה
ושלולית דם על רצפה,
מטלית לחה בידך הרועדת
והמון, המון שקט.
Art Appreciation
Meat
- He: You don't need me to eat a steak.
- She: Need.
- He: No, you don't.
- She: Need meat.
- He: Yes, but that doesn't--
- She: OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM
Tweet
Tweet
Open
I’ve opened the gate
and let my beard out,
sitting in underwear
watching stained talk
shows—attention span
like rubber banding
left and right and
snapping
as I dance—alive in the
Living Room, exalted
insane animal set loose
howling mad as you
open the door
with horror
in your
eyes.
Location³
This poem is better
than the poem sitting
in the darkened drawer but
not as good as the poem
standing on the shelf.
Apparently, poetry is
all about geography.
5am Whispers
I remember how
I stole you:
I remember our
first bed—
both in and out
of the stifling
apartment—our
nomansland of
hushed fucking
and 5am whispers
in the cool
desert dawn.
Candle
I try to identify
with the Earth
as a single candle
battles darkness
and paints the
angled walls in colors
almost bearable.
Taller
In the darkness I
learn she hoped I’d be taller.
I stretch in the dark.
