sonnet

darling, with your scoliosis and bangs
and your swinging scythe and kneecap cuts
show me your sore legs, and show me your fangs
asleep in your hut, asleep in your hut

oh, to wet and peel your paper hands
and draw figures upon your pale back
to wash them away with snow and sands
and serve as your tired, elderly yak

lady tiger, let your tongue spill out long
spinning boundless and red from your saber teeth
let it sing to me, tired whale songs
and undulate and recoil from me

for i am some minnow swimming downstream
as you boil this creek, breath in its steam

scoliolitic trees

cremate me
using the candles
set upon
the kings dinner table

was written upon
the rubber
of a seal's skin

was written in white
like the pale geometry
of an astronauts
lightfooted meanderings

drawn out for you
with rulers
and erasure marks

etched in the rhythm of

a song of our progenitors
who beguiled us
into their campaign
with science

and a certain chemistry
of yours

and soon a certain can of spray paint
of hers

it seems to breath hoarse
like tiny proliferations of sand and wind

standing in the trembling dark
with the upright
and silent cattle
in the early
tense morning

haiku

the matador
withdraws his blade

a nimbus
of red petals
descends