Saturday, June 30, 2012


Stupid thing with fishbones for a head.
Have you not heard the priest say this before?
Have you not heard them preach to you?
Have you not been defiled sadly enough?

You have most often been seen with fireworks,
in your shoes.
You have often had a rough throat
from all that crying.
You have often danced with your walls,
afraid of freedom.

Now, how can you sit here?
In this land of skies,
and white moons.
And pray to be loved by hearts that are not yours?
Your priest is fed up of you

He says you must be sent to the asylum,
He says that God cannot cure you.
Only death can

Sit with me and I will tell you a story-
Of children who flew at night,
with hibiscus in their hair.
They spoke of a well,
near the side-walk of a cliff-road.
Where hang holy people,
by their collars.

Sit under those collars, and drink from the well.
And you will forever be at peace.

The well had been poisoned,
long ago.


Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Lovers That Undress

My lovers undressed me with their eyes
on the streets
In cafes
In the shops
In the faint mist
of mountain air

Searching for answers in my hair,
the curve of my waist
or the shape of my thighs.

One touched my cheek softly,
in worship,
as if tracing my wheatish belly,
with his bare hands.
He was beautiful.
One stared as if,
my eyes revealed the,
soft swell over my breasts,
and all it's-
Woman's textures.
The knotted nomad,
with his porcelain
as if we were
and cocoons.
The one,
with the shy eyebrows,
secrets out of my words,
wrapping them,
with his,
at another table.

But the blacks i carry,
would never unravel,
in their fingers.

I felt nothing.
Nothing then.
Only polite discomfort,
because of,
body politics.

My mind,
only gathered the storm,
to my lips.
Which froze.

Where can i carry my legs?
Where can i unfurl my thighs?
Where can i join my hands?
to soothe,
my aching,

A mad war rages,
across my skin.
Because I cannot cry.
A mad war is made,
across my skin.
Because I am silent.

These mountains cannot ever,
hold the truth of my mistakes.
These mountains will never,
with my war-cry.

I will be drunk
again with words.
A full mother-superior again.
I will birth sorrow out of
the sockets,
and cafe-contained
body language.
I will become,
a mild creature.
At once quiet,
and sheer.

Do not cover me,
with your art.
Do not weave me,
into your poetry.
Do not touch me with,
hunger in your words.
Only sit with me,
kind, and open.
Only kiss me with truth.
I am not a muse.
I am not a body.
I am not a mind.
Just a girl.
With prayers roaming in my soul.

The gentleman
a perfect animal.

Poetic Justice

I let the bile churn in my stomach
shivers, like waves of hunters
carried rhythms in my body

I slept less
just to forget my dream
I slept less
to form poetry,
with the innards of my mind.
Gutting all purity
and making me a lover

Black curtains
fell across
my eyes
as i lay in bed,
a comma.
A fetal curve of
desire and sorrow.

A slow fever
sharpened its edges upon my neck
and stomach.

She had said



Through beds
Through photographs
Through myths
Through stories
Through words
Through muses
Through snakes
Through folklore
Through dreams
Through women
Through RED

Just fucking

and much else

I did not have enough skin
to collect my misery.
I did not have enough tongues
to cut between my teeth.
I did not have enough
of a woman within me,
to stop my,
wandering denial.

And so i hurtled
and stumbled
through dry heaves
of the mind.

Cut open
and lay quietly
for the jaws to cool.


It is 5 am and I want to vomit
with the sheer contour of my nausea

She speaks the truth.
Her truth,
has pierced my belly often.
Her truth has saved me often.
But today it makes me shiver

They say crying is therapeutic.
the language has fled me.

I have an unfortunate heart.

I fall in love
With minds.