In this land of a quick and unexpected death, where the air is almost wet enough to drink,I am merely seeking an experience of being alive, my best and only religion,the music of tiny, bare footsteps splashing.
Author: Teahouse
Service, to sip, Sunset Boulevard
I saw her again last night—the old raving woman with the girlish pigtails, trailing bin bags behind her that were visibly overflowing with knickknacks. This time, instead of yelling at me, she targeted my dog. “You evil man,” she told him, “I know what you did!” Her eyes didn’t leave him, even when he started […]
I Miss You
everywhere, in the hairs on my head and of my body. In my nails, teeth, skin, flesh, sinews, bones, marrow, kidneys, heart, liver, diaphragm, spleen, lungs, stomach, bowels, mesentery, and excrement. I miss you. Your absence floats in my bile, my phlegm, my pus, blood, sweat, lymph, tears and saliva. I miss you. In the oil […]
Virgin Birth
Impregnated by the stars,the womb flower invited you, swifter than lightningyou were invoked, refreshing the entire world,a cloud releasing its rain evenly for all
The Birth of the Sacred Mirrors (for Alex Grey)
Birds settle on a tree for a while,and then go their separate ways again.There is no separate way apart from you.When I breathe, I can taste your breath,ablaze with an all consuming fire.When my heart aches,there is nothing you will not understand.Many have died in this house, but not you. Overtaken by this thing which men […]
Fire Sacrifice
The way some firefliesHide within the grassFaking the fluorescent signs Of cold heat, I waitedTo possess you, to consume you Entirely, absolutely, as gravityBends star light, or vines relax Over the necks of grapes,This desire springs from the soil. When you come and go, I feel Like a burnt offering
Echolocation
I want to find youWith my sound, empty and Marvelous, in the void, givingYou shape with nothing else Except the idea of your molecules.Every jewel, each note, contains The reflection of all the others.
Mindful of Time
Some time ago—I don’t remember how long because I didn’t think to keep track—a couple of mourning doves came to inspect a flowerpot that hangs from the ceiling of my porch. They went back and forth, inspecting the flowerpot, for a day or two, and then they left. A few weeks later they were back […]
I will not be the last man to tell you
your smile,contaminated with purity, contains the sun, moon, and starsIf I were a patriarch, I would order incenseto be burned before it.