Sunday, October 30, 2011

Death by Chrysalis

Not everything that dies becomes a moldering rot
like the sticky black ooze of the weeds of ancient seas.

Take that wooly mammoth, for instance, found in a block
of ice on the edge of the middle of some frozen nowhere,
flowers half-chewed in its mouth. What luck to be unlucky
in such a way – in a cold flash just after a little dinner-salad –
so that, all these centuries later, heads wag in disbelief
and grunt smirks at the shaggy once was of him.

And what of the death by chrysalis of the caterpillar –
a voracious, needy, earthy thing that dies from cramp
and forced revision only to be resurrected with two thin
surprises connected lightly to the same center of it all?



Pirene's Fountain - Fall/Winter 2011
Reprinted in The Houseboat (Featured poet No. 3).

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Blogger Chick

Her words slide
                 across the page
                                 like a lap dance
                      and grind against
     the very base of you.
She writes
       like a runaway
                without options;
                            uses what God gave
             and what men take.
She digs on the sweat
                        and the panting
                                    and the smoke
                                                and the rush of blood
                                                                       to the head
                                                      from the whiskey
                         she pours down your throat,
         and you open wide.
She knows
        she's an addiction
                            and winks
                                   at the weakness
                                                        of you,
                             reduces you to words
                 you read over
  and over again.



Burning Word - October 2011
Reprinted in The Houseboat (Featured poet No. 3).