stock her (2)
artifact found in a pink luminescence
captured sentiment in forebearers and
quake in me a feeling to be.
five hundred and four hours of an uncertainty
principally in a clementine fashion or
indecisive problem set.
the infatuated craft flip distraction
of a geometry you forgot on a napkin.
snare the receipt for a reimbursed confirmation
of reciprocated affection,
vocal parallel you made well,
liquid turnback to a pulley system
of compromised tastes, reservoir
filling, volume parameter stretched
fearways as i fell in,
as a zephyr was you glide ethereal
a body at its strings nervous, anchored
by a denial of purity and mistrust.
but eye fiercing a perpetual motion
machine you left my insides clean.
you made me clean.
corporate man smiles
quality of that forgotten pop princess,
fractured jewel case in the junk heap.
magnetism of a robust marble,
a decentralized bust you mannequined from the GAP.
you cry and blood envelops your ipod shuffle.
reception of biological spell,
your quiver of shame filled the
ambiguous fluid, you quiver.
you were my deitress, flowing as
lace, i saw through you
as the voyeur does, and how i do.
empress no. 2
kingston sipping livingston
singout that i am a man again.
i am the martyr of a word unseen,
i am the obelisk you think about as you bleed.
penetrate the inside again and probe the
incision that my psyche inflicted, the
child safety of your lighter taken off.
you feel the gauge of my topaz, fibering
the optic nerve with your ankle socks. reverse
me, inside out. rotting, pilfered cotton speaks to
me, incantation of the repeated memoric
a liminal symbol pressuring your linen bath.
your mummified canister of a body staring
darkways into the water.
body transport to patterned sex symbol -
i can be your scabbed-over tesselation,
i can be your pop violence.
peel back a lid and dip those joints of yours
in pain wax, sensual mold,
you left me cold.
your chillness gave me a cold. bed sore in
convenience store, melted ailment as
new instrument, tooled to ultimatum.
i note your bandaged feet. i unwrap your
bandages and with them my soiled footnotes.
wound improved, ashes blown to gender-wind.
you’re jailbait, now show me your fisher-price.