unruly

seething hair the strands caught
never held between clenched fingers
tangled on rough cheap sheets
tangled in your teeth
your fingers

after when the blood cools
and skinsweat leaves a salt veil
slowly we will run lax fingers
through devil’s knots
and clove hitches
and figure eights of hair

thinking in numbers

Trying to give myself a boost back into writing poetry, so this is what I have:

Issue 5 of _In My Bed_ is here!

The fifth issue of In My Bed, "Skin," is available now. My poem "Skinned" is in there, along with some quite lovely raciness. Adult content! NSFW! Enjoy!

down

Wings are what is called for,
soft as a feathered nest
prepared for new young.

I have a glimpse of wings
and close my eyes, imagining
the slip of family, genus, species.

I am the swan now, wings
white as teeth opening
To enfold you, Leda in reverse.

And we see angels, we see wings
as signs of mad dispassionate
grace: freedom to see farther.

I love the wings you gave me
when I felt them first
in that first naked moment.

The couple moves in slow-mo,
caught in the wide angle of the cherry blossoms.
His hand and arm grow into hers.
They look not at each other--too bright!--but
Down, searching toes for signs.
Every seven steps
(but not the same seven)
they each glance up with
Eyes like tender greedy fingers.

They plot their lives there on the sidewalk.
Confident their collaboration is
on hand for the taking.
For the wanting.
Simple.

Here but gone...

I've been MIA, poetically speaking, but I have good news: "skinned" will be published in In My Bed magazine (link to come), issue 5. Also, I was a finalist in the Summer Literary Institute's annual poetry contest (link for this also coming). Lithuania sounds unlikely--I'm flat broke and have no job!--but it sure sounds great anyway. Ponder, ponder.

concrete sky