What I Want from You

All I want
is my two front teeth
and a red and yellow wall of flame
to separate us. A flickering rise
of firelight to shine
on the remains.

You’ve left me

for the last time. Now
I sharpen my fangs
on what’s left of you.

I want to escape

Gravity, (long form

of grave), pulls me
to reality. I’d rather rise

to cremation, to
supersition and ash:
skip the feast of worms.

Let me ride winds to low tables
in Japan where people pick me apart

with chopsticks,
grown towering
and cut for meals like me.

Take me above where I can become
the fall and cry of whippoorwills
and crows, where I can ride mother’s breath

until I’m sucked back into life. Then
take me to outer spaces until I smoke:
That high, leave me too close
and falling into the sun.

photo credit: NuageDeNuit | Chiara Vitellozzi via photopin cc

Teaching Grace

spare the rod, spoil the man

I used to turn a man’s head
by grasping his ears and twisting
until he could see his own ass
was split similar to mine

No need the panting
tongue and shrill whistle
common to hindsight

Each time understanding
failed with the light in his eyes:
I counted that victory until I realized
the seed of more than one man left the garden

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photo credit: sepulture/is.dead/ via photopin cc

A silent man

He had a penis when we started,
but realized it got in the way
of conversation about more
than whether he dressed right
or left. Gradually, he came
to understand his dick
didn’t matter as much
as his mouth.