2 crooked veneers

plunge the mattress surface.

From behind, totalitarian misery

devours, enjoying weeds and thorns.



I’ve found a handbook for the lonely,

the ingredients are spiteful.

But, neatly folding the wise man’s blouse

I lean in to smell the pages.



Now ants come surging under the door

in kaleidoscopic waves, swelling with desire.

There isn’t time to show them

but we’re seeping through the callico.



Suck, suck, suck! Then, a…

September 7, 2010



Withered willow,

scantily clad with a rustic memory,

wielding arms like tumours

each one

a misguided maladroit.

I do see the forest through the trees

but not the tree through the forest.

I thought this was a good hiding place

but now my skirt is soaked

with saccharin.

Thoughtlessly scaling these knowing limbs

is exhilarating uncertainty,

but to stop and smell the blistered bark

reduces the branch

to mulch.…