Tuesday, October 9, 2007


Dollar dollar dollar
How much for the window
Legs cut, hands cut
Long lines through the center
Short-cut becomes berry
Juice so close to blood-bone.
Like lip-licking too much
Too close to hurt. Don’t
Let your daughters go out
The berries growing thick
And low but who will help
When wheeled-out blown
Earth gutted where the knife
Drew so slow, as if intentional.

ETA: After seeing the post below, I though that I would put up this poem too:


oil-dark, rainbow slit
where ships trowel
drain dittchery, umbrellas
undone by the twist-trot
wake. whale sleep
smelling of forgiveness;
the foamed gloss
of milk-rot. it's no wonder
so many wash up dead.