
Category: biology
she kept her honor

so he took her like an animal
but my father’s ghost wept
so she went to the men
like a good American
good people don’t want to believe
in visionaries good or bad
especially when you have red clay mud
starved stabbed scabbed over and over
on your grandmother’s dress from being raped just like her
from ft. Sumter to Wounded Knee
he’d never seen that color red come out of a living fertility statue
my veil is torn
the dog is dead
the natives have resumed their drumbeat
Poof* Take MY water

happy Father’s Day, dad
you were
My poetry is irreverent, prone to sentimentality, and prurient behavior.
My poetry hates your mother.
My poetry worships humanity.
My poetry stuck a finger in your wedding cake.
My poetry made a blonde girl cry in Starbucks.
My poetry wants to overthrow the government.
My poetry misses her father.
My poetry screwed your sister in the back of a Chevrolet.
My poetry can’t sing, but she can dance, baby.
My poetry took a shit in your designer handbag.
My poetry is piss shiver art.
My poetry laughs too loudly.
My poetry thinks god has run out of excuses.
My poetry weeps for the dying world.
But mostly,
My poetry hopes
you’re enjoying the ride.
my desire becomes primitive
when i consider the way
loving him is more than emotion
it is biological
chemical
our own space on the periodic table
elemental
i want him
with the parts of me that desire
to nurse children
eat meat
wear fur
find warmth in firelight
especially when
i am beneath him
skin wet
my hands in his beard
watching the muscles ripple
from his shoulders
down his arms
certain
i could remain there
until the next ice age
there are truths in the stars
i cannot tell him with words
circumstance a circus
inexplicable eventualities
why i become sick
when i travel away
why my eyes are amber secrets
he will learn
we exist in a theatre of fleeting hearts
lost moments wind swept
as sure as
this poem will drown in a pool of tears
a stone sunk to the bottom
of a forgotten day
hand in glove
i hope you think of me
and call it art
when you masturbate
dirty man
he was a nerve gas attack
on the japanese subway system
of my soul