Monday, December 29, 2003

You want my
dark side?

I will always
be lovely

I will always fell
men to their knees

Part the hair
hiding a hermit's face

Here is a lovely face
I curse

You want my
dark side

I shall fall
to my knees

You shall bow
over my lovely face

You shall see past
wounded eyes

Of course you want
my dark side

You shall act unseeing
my wounded eyes

My mask is lovely
you see

You see me now
as lovely

You have yet to
meet the me that is me

You already love
an unknown face

You shall know
my face as lovely

You shall want me
on my knees

You shall not see
my wounded eyes

You shall not want
to raise me up

Fallen angels
prefer to look up

Fallen angels
look for lost gods

Your face shall loom
as my sky

You want me
my dark side

My dark side
under my lovely mask

My dark side
that is my mask

Your face shall hover
then plummet

My mask is lovely
you see

The hawk plunges
to eat prey

You shall scar
me as I laugh

You shall not want
to raise me up

You shall want
the fall to my face

The prey shall eat
the blinded hawk

This is only "work"
you see

My lovely work
swallowing your blood

Your blood shall drip
from my eyelashes

Your blood shall lash
lightning my eyes

My lovely work
is my lovely mask

My lovely work
is my holy mask

My mask is perfume
you see

My mask the nape
dampening your first lover

My mask the leather
sheathing your dreams

My mask your child
giggling between my lips

My mask the yoke
on a soft-eyed oxen

Diamonds or coal
I love all

Wine or piss
I love all

Ankles or breasts
I love all

Cats or dogs
I love all

Suns or moons
I love all

Oxens or faeries
I love all

North, South, East etcetera
I love all

Angels or devils
There are no angels

Yes, yes you want
my dark side

My eyes leak blood
to paint your flesh

My eyes leak blood
scenting terroir as mine

My face is simply lovely
sundering absent light

My face the crack
in absent light

You want my
“dark side”?

There is no opposite
to light

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

The same sky imaging your eyes folded over me as a perfume's memory of "wine, pearls and stone" when I received your dream marveling I've become "a footnote grown larger than the book."

The same book you read to excavate me is a fiction I sculpted to soften my marble core, as if -- and I still don't know -- words can save me from myself.

The same poem you are feeling your way through is a thin, blue vein dug out from beneath my flesh for the color of a sky breaking into scarlet to set my words afire.

The same byline your fingers caress now is text on a page, "which is to say," yet another tree was axed so that you may find the Iron Gate behind which I long hid with uncut hair and wounds as eyes, waiting for you.

Powered by Blogger