Cats

    pink non eraser

    under fan
    ceiling
    by socks or slippers
    whispers inside the softest rain
    disordered bee
    bonnet be let out
    two dimensions on a wednesday
    piece of obsidian, cool in hand
    her dilating pupils
    her pink paper sand
    clawless pawing my pencil
    .;,,32wu8x
    pathomistry traces oily
    whiff papyral

    //

    catspoon
    container

    //

    re invited / over hung

    well Lady Dionysia, re invited
    in his season of sacrificial eyes dilated
    regal and settle on spilled contents of purse
    the messy desmudging scene in the mirror
    shrugs

    re selfie up reckening too sour & sweet, ordinary
    melted candies mixed crispy noodles, common
    self wrecked reflux re bilious, re typical
    up curdled and scarlet venereal, my old
    porcelain friend

    encore, shredded mini still twists in the corner
    her demon skin shimmying, re woken wasted
    and wrestling names in the kayfabe reflection
    skin sizzle, sexy sorry, acid re self surrection
    and not Jesus
    or Mary

    over hung
    and rollover
    the cat scratches, blinks, laps pink paper sand
    paws curious and fickle underwire boy toy
    hooks prophesy like prey, her next skimpier suit
    barely feathered and nude in the pitiless bush

    says you will not die, but you ever mistrust
    it’s not poison, flushed affect of purpling fruit
    some feral double is trying on her rings
    Pharmakeia re titrating musical things

    as ripening earth is animal
    angel yet

    //

    🌖

    //

    (for disclosure
    i quit alcohol like
    back in the teens)

    **edited to capitalize the “L” in “Lady Dionysia”

    if not, xmas

    I. fuck Sean Combs

    headlice scratching
    is garbage gothic like
    urban mosquitoes

    softballing curses
    fuck Neil Gaiman too
    on behalf of decent goths

    other things said: sister, i know
    you know a tall stupor too
    like gutted up measured

    rage, i’ll pour you tea
    and tell you it’s whisky, if
    you need empty or harder

    i’ll give you my mask
    i won’t even look
    or obviously touch

    a much drowned witness
    when sunken city found
    on too traceless tracys

    rage, this harp is yours
    sofa, word of an angel
    bed, wish by a sigil

    out winging like Ajax
    the greater, vintage & archive
    party discourses natal

    twelve salt dissing courses
    won’t tire her horses
    bit ironies of Christmas

    dirt snow glitter chain
    gutter drain service entry
    and no such thing as no

    red-bottom chariot and pony-
    tail hair, projectile vomit
    acid tongue at the crossroads

    an orphan army of kunai
    invective & lashing 4 trash
    Erinues down the river

    //

    II. if not, xmas

    missing body
    if a hinge

    if a fold
    in the cold

    could hold
    if not, xmas

    //

    III. pink parasol

    is she meditating subtly for or
    against me, this extraordinary tree
    is her shady cooler or desiring me on
    her radiant day of rest

    if all the mended earth could be a bed
    made lavender to fit her silent shadow
    rough linen-covered pillow for a dream—
    or both my heads grove bother

    as she was oiling glass to sleep last night
    trapped in the loudest windows of my head
    her muscles pacing trafficky and sore
    rewinder daily but more

    and Jeki caught a mouse, that pitter-patter
    crossed exposure with a vengeance, like
    the summer used to blind and burn me, so
    i veil, i veil, i veil

    increasing constant collection of hats
    my polarized knockoffs make me famous
    pink parasol for pointillism in the park
    to cover ankles, hands

    and when i see her at the museum
    like pastel whiteness for nobody happening
    together all alone, closer with drawing
    a disappearing lady

    //

    my ruby eye

    O you, who have suckled her bones
    who have frowned at her horses
    who have fingered her emerald
    and now would taste her ruby too

    and have i not enough exhaled
    her undertowing rose at you
    salt-sticky; here is sea-foam on skin
    here are pregnant transparencies

    and have i not already tossed
    such tender and hard-bitten kisses
    for sheath, another kris today
    treasure accumulates like sand

    behold an ever-angled wound
    the spindle-pricked porosity of red
    i am a self cutting gemstone
    i bleed the emptiness of tools

    i fling magenta words at birth
    behold my prolonged scar of it
    historical, faceting pre-wonder
    tip that breaks her ice-pick tongue

    she was a pirate and a fool
    she ate the plexing devil fruit
    vermillion stretching pelvic nerve
    whose diadem lusts after you

    and who is blinded by her kind
    my fascination will glint cruel
    sent basilisk or blushing bride
    your fear will not take care of her

    the heart, the fist, the appetite
    when Cleopatra mounts insight
    my empire burning leonine
    by Mars, love’s favored principal

    this reign of crimson tears divine
    but sanguine as she’s gentle still
    barefeet may meet the salad vine
    and blue by babbled river’s chill

    just so, what beggar wears my crown
    is dying round the wheel again
    out of her time, out of her mind
    sweet dance, my dove perpetual

    take this, the heartbeat of a sow
    and let it flex upon your palm
    it’s wet, the rumbling scarlet jet
    now let her throb be thunder found

    red wreath for convert cry, the end
    how pilgrimage of period stain
    i am in time, in time, will out
    my ruby eye of her disposable throat

    //

    ποικιλόθρον’ ἀθανάτ’ Ἀφρόδιτα
    & the probing path to yes

    //

    or not nothing
    for saving the phenomena II
    and more

    //

    all complicit 🩸

    //

    triptych of the dog

    //

    a cicak dropped a souvenir on me
    yesterday, savasana; it was
    all happening, pure rejeki, a speck
    for playing dead; the simmering night, the sawah
    was fizzing and burping boggy chemistry

    the gamelan deliberated depth
    of banjar space, a soup of bronze and spittle

    //

    up i, cocks crowing death to rest, dark mind
    the cat was sick again, shit cleaned, cats fed
    the breath of rain, half-there, in vomit stepped
    scrubbed vinegar again, who made the bed
    i squinted past the dawn to wash a dish

    the load of towels, it was not a test
    the shape of chasing weather for a bone

    //

    and would the three of them have made a city—
    Lysias, Lysias, Lysias; he wasn’t there
    he wasn’t here, until bumbu for our sambal
    did rain down from the sky, and i said Lord
    i still deny that you’re an onion seller

    how practice held like density, as though
    svanasana could house the dog itself

    //

    🌒

    //

    see also Rabia Basri

    the horse’s mouth

    teloscopically, my dear, are we botany
    born reading leaves, the pricking fear of bees
    are talking, my lisp, or rearing wobbly nature
    what place, organs and bodies, this disease

    the shying seasons blowing through us, here
    parts animal in starts, quivering vibrations
    made artifacts suspect by cities, near
    or far, the accidents survived, the prisons

    that ended us; the motes and moths in teas
    our flicks or running rivers; wicked courses
    of understanding; what catastrophes
    what phase our faces, without the faith of horses

    you have to have a horse whose feet you trust
    to warn you when a snake is in the grass
    the serpentine who wants to be unseen
    repenting for her gemstone like an asp

    for forking tongues, a talisman is key
    but wear a hat, they’re speaking from the trees
    odd shrubberies are bristling with false friends
    a firecat bristling back can help with jinn

    mosquitoes here are vectors for torpedoes, so
    herbal experiment and/or gorilla war
    sometimes there’s one snake, sometimes there are more
    at least, no kind of viral is a pearl

    a tender canter, daemonic carousel
    remembered ribbons bite in ancient ways
    we play the venom clockwise in our veins
    we shed the dead redundancy of days

    my jungle is a dreadful-clever dreaming
    with shade-grown coffee, waterfalling views
    what godly voices animate my evening
    there’s none i’d rather jungle with than yous

    let’s nicker maps, reverb the mythic blues
    i spell, where y’all are going, where you been
    switch witches laughter with the beating rain
    the crickets will out-round the macet, friend

    to live outside the law, you must be honest
    Bismillahirrohmanirrohim
    by river dark, inside a wounded dawn
    we rhyme it, we just flow to make it rheme

    //

    (Dylan, my Prophetﷺ, Cohen, Cardi B, etc)

    //

    diet

    never too much
    garlic, carrot, oat
    sleep, cake

    but gingerly
    the fungi

    //

    song for her

    my friend is brilliant, she lives inside a box
    her light is so strong, it made cracks into my house
    her cracks in everything, she’s uncontainable
    her container is a place of blinding peace

    she is so brilliant, that i’m afraid of her
    she is so quick, she catches me before i stumble
    she is so mighty, one piece of her becomes my whole
    by day her memory, by night her secret plan

    she is so brilliant, she broke into my dream
    i found her there, busy kitchening a shadow
    what she was making, i couldn’t wait to see
    was it a love potion, or did she want to poison me

    she is so brilliant, i tried to let her know
    i made a mirror, it was not the way to go
    i think i burned her, by what she wouldn’t say
    she is so brilliant, maybe i should have let her be

    she is so brilliant, but her mom sounds like a bitch
    i want to tell her, but i’m not sure about it
    she watches tv, and i think it makes her sad
    i’d let her see me, but her brilliance drives me mad

    she is so brilliant, but our interspecies owl
    if she’s leucistic, and i might be a wolf-man
    if i’m too mystic, my tooth and claw and howl
    to hold her close, i’m gonna fry them in a pan

    she is so brilliant, i take time to process her
    or i’m a house-cat, high-rolling in her sunshine
    i soak it in, through my fur into my bones
    chasing lit inches, and i don’t even mind

    lacking her brilliance, i wrote a song for her
    it’s cos i’m foolish, my words are pawns for her
    i just can’t help it, i need to let her know
    how brilliant she is, that i could never let her go

    she is so brilliant, that i could never let her go
    etc

    //

    not sarcastic

    //

    music by her

    //

    the emerald vine

    sayangku, this is insane! is how i called
    to show him my translation. Wondrous bending
    noetic might, this miracle of earth—
    she called the way she calls him for a viper

    and it was chrysochlorous green, zithering neon
    in day-bright, venom visible, scroll shining
    un-minding, rubbing sleep out of her eyes
    quick-silvering to sprawling pumpkin vine to hiding—

    the same, the same, the same! but every word
    turned different, and all the rest went dim
    the sirens and the hooks, made dull and distant
    slow-honeyed hum, what frenzy, vital air

    the hungry lung was spitting, stitched and thinning-through
    to this—brilliance, broad-leafing light, breathing
    Egyptian smaragdine, Sri Rejeki, Mak Sun.
    but whoever wasn’t blind already knew

    //

    autopygmalesis / autopygmalysis
    Trimeresurus insularis
    previously, on

    //

    selamat purnama 🌕

    familiar

    if i remember you, i was fifteen
    your hair was knotted by dirty difference
    flecked-amber gibbous as my need for love
    your body pliable and bored for me

    (her mother hated your feral smell)

    three decades gone, my pace is set by ghosts
    and at the door, at least three cats or four
    familiar tempo territorial, you puzzled
    pigments with my pinkest calico

    (you should know we don’t do skim)

    we go, we pan the monsoon winds, we blow
    gold-dust up noses of tropic mountains
    resuscitate, topless in hard-top jeeps
    we are burning lucky indigo, lit dupa

    (what’s here that’s spendable is yours)

    who reads as suffering comes craving rhyme
    by planetary slow, the latest virgin
    almost born, in need of form, soft hand
    and shallow. Moon meadow, nettling in time

    //

    (she didn’t mean to make you cry)

    //

    🌖

    Needleworker

    Pierce me once—the crying; pierce me twice—
     The dying; pierce me thrice—my laughing tomb:
    This quivering feline skin, some kind of lark,
     Sharp noise, felt aerial, fled human wound.
    O Queequeg, Lucy’s love, my Nobody!
     Unmake ambergris soufflé to scrap and salt;
    Pets, lapping shattered tiramisu, whet
     Our mongrel tongues; embroidering the asp.
    Bull-revelry, before we dance the waltz?
     Your sutra swans around my ichthyan lisp,
    To charm the vipers out—that feather in
     Your bonnet inks my tapestry with bone.
    I move to tiger with you on the cusp
     Of animality, that golden-threaded throne.

    //

    🌘

    History

    The end is opposite where you were looking. How—
    Evolving sexuality, between libraries
    Of progress, and Trojan wars of recollection. Trenches:
    My universal texture. How does the tiger

    Recline, her velvet freshly laundered in the Milky Way?
    By Sibyl thong, peach-fuzz chemtrails, or does Iris flex
    To tempt desire? A belly dance, like Buddha, in
    My skull-shaped shell—does a snail extract

    Compliance?

    //

    🌗

    Servant

    Tugging, the tusked equine,
    Weightier than I am,
    Was stamping and dragging
    Its hooves, stubborn as dirt.

    Fire married this mare, with
    My tiger’s fang, dripping,
    Driven as divine work—
    To crack the crocodile.

    If Earth would just hold still,
    I could stanza your bridle.
    Be mine—our lashes will
    Whip rows into the jungle.

    Eyes rolling, muzzle defied
    Flea-bitten game—To bind
    Me, noble by a thread,
    Burning by landslide letter.

    Your father spotted stripes
    Rendered to mountain blades.
    He didn’t dare to breathe—a whispered
    Kris, my stalking shade.

    Desire, the conquered theme,
    Laid bare the ravined island—
    Servant by my reins,
    Red rivers spilling by mane and tail.

    //

    🌘

    coy loon, calico

    coy loon, calico
    cat snatched cake from the canang
    cinder coils cunning

    //

    Assalamualaikum + selamat purnama 🌕

    zero belongs to no man

    i’ve heard of angels snaking down and up
    the ladder of your lust, like cats on herbs.

    smudged pawprints on faces of hierophant
    or lovers or tower or devil or —

    free spirit stumbles on the way, or trips
    it upside-down, or stops to make a Friend.

    a clock never belonged to her, the fool
    is led by blooming tendrils of ylang ylang.

    each word escapes the putri, playing prince
    of winding wildernesses in beeswax.

    tracing a comedy of errors, miss —
    fit daughter of the whore of Babylon!

    //

    nocturne

    the veil was flowing flowering
    like a breeze across the skin
    warm as light, so you anointed us
    with periodic rain

    softened surfaces of fresh
    and inner corners, feline lapsing
    liquid weighted, frogs speaking
    like guardian musicians

    permeated the ending day
    with silk, like incense curling
    darknesses deepening pools
    of sandalwood and agar

    brick walls were tall and solid
    the house was made of wood
    tempered by burning beings
    blending tongues for shadows

    the flicker of shapes, familiar
    arguments were unresolved,
    touching was being touched
    and sound of crescent, salivary

    //

    🌘

    deeper hospitality

    a hedgehog digs down,
    away from the wailing blight
    of amplified multitudes

    of lawnmowers and weed-
    whackers, cutters of blades, root-
    hackers and hoes of rows.

    the damp earth dampens
    all those. she wrinkles her nose,
    raises reluctant eyelids.

    a quiet guest
    brings cookies, cozy with bitter
    tea and conversation.

    she eats the nuts,
    leaves crumbs for ants,
    an offering of grubs.

    the world above
    is too superficial, too high-
    and-wired to fathom.

    not much room, in the bright-
    fraught world, for views
    of under-ground.

    close in her den, but not
    too close, the good amount
    of room for tidbitting.

    cats' claws are sharper
    always, in the ever-
    wetter year.

    the peanuts planted
    in Pak Su’s field are swelling
    bellies, growing round.

    nibblers of words
    become the reaping and
    the kettle-ripening.

    lower quills draw deep
    as dirt-sighted sensitive,
    burrows inky in-habiting.

    //

    🌒

    domestic instability

    her furry flank rises
    and falls softly, as breath.
    the wheeze and drift

    of pink nose, neatly
    muffled by curling paw.
    where she is, here — where i

    have placed her. her face
    today is altered, injured,
    i note; from stepping out

    of wood-and-bone dimensions.
    to meet another sister — dark
    of velvet, sinister of scent, who knows

    the grass as blades;
    the searing fear of blood;
    the growl of God at stake.

    while she is light — as spots
    on creamy white, strawberry
    twizzler tongue — and popular.

    her prey is floating feathers.
    and yet, her heart is mean
    as poverty, as maniacal envy.

    black sister, with heart of pink;
    pink sister — black-hearted:
    the dueling dialect of shadow rose.

    tender beings, engendered
    by pain; unviable, beyond
    their quantitative shells.

    //

    among cats

    we live between
    a princessy queen,
    a queenly tyrant,
    and a foolish prince.

    (Lalah, Jeki, Ismail.)

    the purpose of cats
    maybe, is to be
    explicit and accessible
    tropes of royalty.

    (no kings.)

    it is said, that cats
    are the grandparents
    of big cats.

    and have
    mysteriously chosen
    a golden collar.

    what i know is
    a cat will love you
    forever.

    snuggle you
    relentlessly,
    every night.

    and betray you,
    for play — or if

    they feel a little
    neurotic.

    i guess, cats teach
    the fatal pleasure
    of whimsical servitude.

    //

    Aphrodite's verb for a meme-lord

    don’t be gender-strung
    brother, grinding in a corner
    sexless repetitions.

    go limp a little.
    let be won a little.
    let the sun a little soften
    your margarine edges.

    the men i know
    resemble a differently-
    tipped tree than you.

    my men are fundamentals, lost
    in parched landscapes, empty
    of water, warmth, and mercy,
    from where, i teach them love.

    lusty giants bristle-trunked
    and planet-stranded, are nipple-
    slit and magma-branded
    by fully-armored Mars.

    but cold palms trembling
    twiddle the ephemeral course
    with your recurrent inkling.

    you, pocketed by four-
    fingered mercenaries, twenty-
    four, seven, re-puppet the gifted goose.

    smoke the flat potion.
    blowhard the hollow motion.
    worship the literal juice.

    shout, as if spilled clout
    were potency, your wee-
    throated catharsis.

    strong-arm, for and from
    the haptic trill,
    a lover’s pity.

    you, lordly and viral, left your
    deflated blubber on
    the public bedside table,

    honey— your woodless worms
    exhausted into empty domain
    of static, remorseless maw.

    and tender pussycat,
    she swat. then low-key, she
    your factum, deposited

    into her rainy-day, furry-frosted
    milkmaid, snappy the snatch-
    game crocodile account.

    //

    labor

    the rain is heavy
    sopping slapping shattering
    goldfish dimension

    water bristling
    the cats in barbed corners
    are hiding, hissing

    nobody
    shares shelter
    in the emergency

    i am under roof
    imagining
    a lazy woman


    //

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