Strange Fancy

perhaps, now, something different,

a new wet dream,

fucking on a vast chessboard -

I learn the game,

I choose a side,

pick up a piece,

slip a finger inside,

wide-eyed,

checkmate.

Synecdoches Nos. 1 and 2

#1: in love I am

the thirsty sandstone of

my tongue,

the magnetism of

my skin cells,

the melodic rounds of

my dreams,

the lecture of

my lips,

the meaning of

my kisses,

the tribal drumming of

my heart,

louder than the tones of

my voice.

#2: kid brother insists upon

the sentience of his bowels;

his upset stomach is not nauseous but

distressed, forlorn;

his intestines writhe

with melancholy;

his esophagus floods

with bilious tears;

his tummy

is sad.

The Antichristy Manifesto

1.

Compelled by stormy blindness,

I carve an upside-down cross

into the meat of my heart

(right-side-up if I forget myself) -

hollowed by ten thousand abortions,

strangled by the hateful whispers of snakes,

labeled in bold,

fixed to die,

carry me home -

no more running,

no more walking,

nail me here to bleed,

hang me here to dry

(I've been told of how I'll die,

first to be born,

then to fall apart,

dehydrated, deflated;

demise: a dark place, a

warm place).

2.

I am quiet,

smaller than nothing,

quite easily hidden by

a hand over the heart

(for I am a bug there,

an arterial flea,

a mite choking on a clot,

a fly, a gnat,

alive only by slight chance),

and with a sleight of hand I am

gone again.

3.

each sleep is bigger than the next,

rolling over like hungry gray waves

on the sand of the earth

in the coldness of night

Dishwashing

I'm washing your dishes,

I'm chafing my hands,

the water flows down through the drain;

I'm humming a tune

as old as the moon -

I love you, I love you, I love you.