I made a franchise out of a flower, gutted hive of petals, and a curtsey and turn and turn and turn. I want to count the years between us, or the days. The minutes. Thousands of minutes, and days, little finning things where there is no water. Ten. And three ( Read more... )

eleventh hour, rose, you stole ( Read more... )

rose, perpendicularly, my ankles urgent ( Read more... )

early morning pdx, my belly soft, and i wonder, rose,
what time renders deftly, how
i might count the sky, why
we insist our coffee spoons measure tides, and
what to make of the janus mask of god. selfishly,

rose, amidst the graves, last night i dreamt my fingers
weaving ladders in your hair. i dreamt
i blended my face with ( Read more... )

and i am not your lover, rose ( Read more... )

rose, what is a span, but not a time, a measure ( Read more... )

Put a little marker here, sitting in the vinyl booth, watching a boy wipe the tears off a girl's face outside on the sidewalk. Here, a stitch -- the beginning of the end, a small escaping loop in the fabric to remind that there is at least something luxurious in the unraveling, something beautiful about how hard eyes can be, and elsewhere, and your ( Read more... )

rose, hanging low -- can you hear it as well?
sky bursting forth after days of straining --
and in the gutters, the mermaids turning, their
faces caked with dirt, go and have a washstill stinging their translucent ears? rose, i ( Read more... )

rose remember, what forces green
exhales verdantly, what marrow yearns
without cessation -- please do

remember, rose, palms opening
gracefully, vining tendrils faithlessly,
blooms naked and alarmed (choose me,

choose me, choose me) insisting ( Read more... )

Light, Rose, and your green handprints ( Read more... )