Cats
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)
//
π
Needleworker
Pierce me onceβthe crying; pierce me twiceβ
βThe dying; pierce me thriceβmy laughing tomb:
This quivering feline skin, some kind of lark,
βSharp noise, felt aerial, fled human wound.
O Queequeg, Lucy’s love, my Nobody!
βUnmake ambergris soufflΓ© to scrap and salt;
Pets, lapping shattered tiramisu, whet
βOur mongrel tongues; embroidering the asp.
Bull-revelry, before we dance the waltz?
βYour sutra swans around my ichthyan lisp,
To charm the vipers outβthat feather in
βYour bonnet inks my tapestry with bone.
I move to tiger with you on the cusp
βOf animality, that golden-threaded throne.
//
π
History
The end is opposite where you were looking. Howβ
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 shellβdoes a snail extract
Compliance?
//
π
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 workβ
To crack the crocodile.
If Earth would just hold still,
I could stanza your bridle.
Be mineβour lashes will
Whip rows into the jungle.
Eyes rolling, muzzle defied
Flea-bitten gameβTo bind
Me, noble by a thread,
Burning by landslide letter.
Your father spotted stripes
Rendered to mountain blades.
He didn’t dare to breatheβa whispered
Kris, my stalking shade.
Desire, the conquered theme,
Laid bare the ravined islandβ
Servant by my reins,
Red rivers spilling by mane and tail.
//
π
coy loon, calico
coy loon, calico
cat snatched cake from the canang
cinder coils cunning
//
Assalamualaikum + selamat purnama π
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 β
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 β
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
//
π
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.
//
π
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 β 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 β 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 β as spots
on creamy white, strawberry
twizzler tongue β 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 β 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 β 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,
honeyβ 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
//
how to watch the Eta Aquariids meteor shower
behold
pendulous drape
of cosmic cat
uncoil
the breath
where bodhisattva
sat
orangutan
persuaded
chimpanzee
let’s be
moving targets
together
baby
//
thanks for the heads up @Mirazπ«
Γ¦lizabeth is
moonchild
mother of cats
mask-makerβs wife
wholly enthused
by gift of life
dust weeper and dabbler
in girlish games
waggle dancer
rhymes with rain
inexpertly forgot
how to explain
sassy
midnight train
seer of self
in silvered waters
beggarβs bowl
auditioning
translator of one
worldly thing
porous
and learning
how to breathe
again
sayer of no
didact of pain
ambassador of monster
in the main
decaying
maybe insane
but fascinated by
reptile wile
lover of light
but versatile
hallowed home
if in a dream
maker and
amatrix in Γ¦xile
meeter of Muses
student of Prophet
rememberer of Names
servant of Allah
humble
as Γ¦ver always on
the way and
doubtless never
lost for words
//
(for a new about page)
a chariot is
reply to Isthmian I, via Phaedrus 227Ξ²
//
a chariot is artifact entombed
beneath packed sediment
an imprint on the earth
of acts not of the earth
sightless as solitude
lifeless as time itself
rotting perpetual
vehicle disposed
it falls apart
a chariot is
impervious
to crying
a chariot is a paragraph
about ancient technology
symbols illuminated by
old photos from museums
shaded settings in relief
straight lines on pregnant-bellied vases
fragments of singed and tattered verse
reasons described almost
as spatial motion re-constructed
of kingships and bloodline races
past endings to beginnings of
gods animals and man
words used as tools
each one to fix and justify
as evidentiary groping at
a world of human things
we still don’t know
a chariot is an easy gift
against a multitude
of horses
βββββββthe machines we used to get
from place of rest to planet mars were splendid
magnificent creatures in their own
ββββββββββββββββgolden-
ββββββββββββββββratioed
ββββββββββββββββgrammars
and dragons that took hold of drivers' eyes
they thought the wind but caught to ride
a flaming sword instead between her thighs
maidens of modern mythologies arrived
on cliffside edges wearing white
ββββββββββββββββtranslucent coats
ββββββββββββββββarousal com-
ββββββββββββββββpartmentalized
to celebrate new body parts cognized
the jewel-tones of her lacquered toes
the scent of ozone taste
of toxic fizz behind
her sucking nose
her mouth disclosed
she swallows apples licks
a rose the absolute
glory hallelujah
ravenous grows
vulva exposed for clicks
each flick a seed she sows
from echoes loaded lead
her rainbows red as victory
she was the counting down to blasting off
she was four hundred thousand horses yoked
by arc of axel angel burnt tendrils
smoke billows over rocky rough terrain
past battlefields and nations past
her recent childhood and
arsenic smile
their eyes went to
ββββββββββher nippled curves and angles
ββββββββββher thorough flexibility
ββββββββββher starry nights and spangles
ββββββββββher lashes cruelly clawed
ββββββββββher pussies pawed
ββββββββββand oh how they
ββββββββββto her with her and of
ββββββββββher came
as realism
inscribed by god
rendered maidens un-made
oiled python sheen of ageless skin
she was the beauty left in violence
they were materials for war
sapphire eyes emerald or amethyst
you chose the crystal the correction and
the facets for
some child in Africa
was orphaned by each armored scale to feed
her un-weaned toddler burger meat
( at least the blacks buried
and did not eat
their very
fathers
a chariot is
from-dust-
arisen life transcribed )
annunciations posted inter-angel
a holy home a web apart
filters of pale ethereality
content implicitly divorced
from earth’s divided continent
baptismal diamantine written
laws skinlessly conceived that we
may find and hold as work of art
your child’s hunger as forgiven
a chariot is
ββββββββββalready cleansed of blood it is
ββββββββββexcerpted rage it is
ββββββββββbrave forms we made
ββββββββββfrom partial purpose or
ββββββββββhow to make pure
a brilliant woman true to life
but honestly a whore
a chariot is what you drive to get
to work your nightmares harnessed by
engines of piston pretenses
at likely sentences
a chariot is nothingness herself
but full of manliness
the games we play when we
make love in light of day
driving endlessly divine
at origins as orifices flying
a chariot is
a summary
of dying
//
selamat purnama π
3 cats
//
Lalah loves nothing better than to get
her cat smell all over a freshly laundered
human and then go and scratch some wood
//
meanwhile Ismail
is trying to puke
something unwanted up
//
Sri Rejeki
gets scary
after dark
//
Itβs the middle of the night, I walk into the bathroom and there is a golden frog sitting outside the window looking in at me. It is glittering gold.
(Ismail tries to eat it.
// This is why your tummy hurts, boo)
Ismail
it looked like neon green beans, to my eyesβ
the sorry viper he regurgitated
before my sweeping feetβas i, bent low
examined finger-lengths of body, gnawedΒ
in pieces, coated with digestive slime
and barely small enough to swallow; so
his coddled bite could make a stunning gift
from serpent suffering, knowledge obtained:
our little life would never not be strung
by line, each day a hundred unseen times
between the drunken swagger and the lap
his cradled comfort loving-limp in mine
that we would match white tooth, pink gum with death
and valor make more holy than satiation
//
Selamat purnama π
We see now // the tools of tyranny falling happily, giddily into the laps of tyrants. These it turns out were not just our toys, but the dark materials of American fascism.
(Whose?)
Well, I had an accumulation of dark thoughts gathering for a dark moon post, on technology and colonialism and the other usuals around here, but I lost my heart for it. So instead I’ll tell you, my beloved blog, about my guilty pleasure or “secret single behavior” (who remembers this reference?) when my husband is away, which is to watch a certain tv show. I won’t name it but it’s Korean and it involves “singles”.
The “singles” always do this thing where they compare their faces to non-human animals' faces. Saying, like, “you look like a puppy dog” or get specific with breeds like “you look like a maltese” or “you look like a cat” or “like a donkey”. Awkward smile. “Oh, I do?” “Yes. In a good way.” Followed by modest, embarassed laughing. The women cover their mouths with their hands when they smile or laugh. They all have perfect manicures and pedicures. I try to catch looks at the peoplesβ faces but I never catch the resemblance to the given animal.
I notice my husband’s face today, when I video call with him and Ibuk, my mother-in-law. I see anew how handsome he is, with chiseled, sad but wonderful features, high cheekbones and kind eyes. He has the most dazzling smile of anybody I’ve ever met. He is part fae. Ibuk smiles when she sees my face in the phone. I wave and smile back, one of those smiles that feels involuntary, with a rush of warmth, maybe gratitude at being recognized. It’s hit-or-miss these days, with Ibuk. Iβm happy to see her in a good mood.
E knows I watch this tv show, and now you do too. Why do I watch it? I admit, it’s because I get drawn into the romantic entanglements. The silly hosts crack me up, they also get drawn in. We hope to see clever relationships develop, we fall for every hand-holding moment, (in Korea, I guess, hand-holding is still a big deal), we despair when the perfect couple can’t make it work. Or when someone cheats on us, by holding the wrong person’s hand! Sometimes we cry together (me and the show hosts). So the moral of this dark moon story is, even when it’s garbage tv, I am a fool for
rage, I was thinking, is like-drawing-like. Rage of the inside draws rage of the outside.
Given: a triangle, between external rage, internal rage, and X.
Never ask, who is X?
is who X is.
You were the mother, you programmed the song.
The name you gave it was
(click to subscribe
)β¦(
is who you are
playing the long game of bow and lyre, aiming for the victory wreath, while (the uncanny child stumbles like a thick and heavy smoke toward the capital)
blind
)
//
Assalamuβalaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatu. π
//