Verses/Curses
hot snow woman
somewhere it’s christmas, but i’m here doing laundry
we both know how dangerous that can be
my favorite things to wash are sheets and towels
they come out white-hot, bright and steamy clean
and ready to be hung under this unseasonable sun
so sincerely unmeaning for any meaning at all
my simple chore, and not to drop or drip on them
as i un-wring the nubby cotton yoga blanket
disentangling from the rub of its late flood, to spread
and pin it on the line, adjusting ends to dry evenly
folding my prior load, i’ll tell you just what i find
my daily yoga tops, lavender python, yes really
sky blue, white puff, navy with golden stars, poly girly
turquoise-violet mermaid scales and hippie daisies
for yoga shorts, mens bamboo boxer-briefs, all black
emblazoned with italian-style logo, pasti lokal
for underwear, i’m mostly cotton, occasionally lace
synthetic demi-nude or translucent net; pink pastel
or robin’s egg with winking flowers and creamy camisoles
i barely wear a bra; that’s fairly reflected here
two oversized linen shirts, menswear, light blue
pinstripes, for my free-flowing shade, or undyed natural
two oversized soft flannel, menswear, blurry plaid
my cozy-in at night, for when the wind blows colder
their warmth imbued with an intense nostalgia
loose pants of rayon blend, tie-dyed in earthy tones
i buy these from a lady near our favorite resto
sweets for the maskmaker, as village mothers often do
he charms their socks off and gets us lightning deals
i mend them into scarves when seams rag, and re-up yearly
i fold it all, attending to the shape and size, to fit
into created places on the shelf; it doesn’t spill over
we don’t have too much; for every piece there is a tell
the other morning a hornet was sleeping on a pillow
and buzzing slushy, bristle or tickle, firecat feels real
but i’m a snow woman today, or if i’m melting
i’m doing what i do on any other day, heat swelting
i’m touching and holding nothing that isn’t here
and by the nothing that is or isn’t, who or where
being beheld or leaving somewhat damp, unfolded
//
perverse
like my uncle
x Hot Frosty
//
🌒
O sunrisen sand
lit warm on a surfer
for holistic kitchen
on bent-knee receipt
her despite respite
libris libraque
//
leaves like stars
leaves like stars
for wonder gazers
scrappy chasers
a hot day, here
the emerald belt
for kept begonias
weathering arms
of atmosphere
heart of Antarctica
across the room
blurry
melting
pinkish
patient
//
selamat Natal 🌟
//
black wing
mirabilis volubilis
in shaded speculation
her open eye
her slanted sine
the wilting one
the violeting
the surface matte
the silver bell
oil drawn
from olive well
her shelter, solid
green muscle
//
not sore anymore
well and
//
those two
today we mampir at the house of Pak Mangku
his mother passed, so we bring beras, gula, kopi
in my black linen blouse, my undulant parang
sarung, my sober face, not quite smiling, leaving room
for her; the orchids have bloomed, a white cow has died
to follow, and a sherbet sky breaks chains at sunset
swallowing a lavender storm; all in a day’s wok
sometimes i fantasize about the afterlife
bad habit; my sister and my desister here
and here; but when i see the bulbuls and the tits
the fine-feathered egrets’ flight for patchwork light to graze
in full breeding plume, their eyes intently red
i return to stanzas that rhyme, like those two
memory washes the sawah; my season softer by it
//
//
corvid solstish
i saw a crow, but not a city crow
a forest crow, gagak hutan, Corvus enca
her smooth and perceptive, violet-black
matte iridescence, flew over me, up to the green
ravine; from there she turned her black eyes on me
barely here, it was the longest day of the year
a rain-soaked day; but the sun came out that morning
to show her shadowing rainbow and the waterfall
later, some kind of animal, taking a hot shower
stars thread the clouds like icy pinpricks of rain
legs still sore, reflection cooling skopein
ornithologoi, a poet’s favorite color; yes, tilting
//
the white rose
i. lazy lying
O love, and your elliptical necessity
O body, where my hand should or shouldn’t be
O pain, incongruous with poetry
O tease, who didn’t even taste her vegan sushi
and can’t you read your working girl is wired
how thick her lines, how dense the verbal flex
through tissue skin she moves for you like fire
if beggars reach beyond the solar plex
or if you crowny thorn her goldylocks
then she could drag your cross by silken hem
mantic romantic how you palmed her wrist
and when you nearly slid it in, sweet bitter
O yes, no, neither, both, if irony
is logic how she leaves the dead country
she only wants to be with you, for you, baby
and how you need it, and how your penstrokes ask for it
darling prevarication; but your him-hands
give quaking earth, they land so serious
and lazy lying on your big brass bed, and curious
you have her on her back, hand where you said
her wears a ring to be transcendent lay
for texture fascinates her fingertips
down to the valley, where she gives it all away
hits harder when the moon falls on a Saturday
//
ii. the corsage
my pulse is narrowing and turns the sky
around this death, heart over air, to fly
so cradled night, my infant, catching, fell
for contact, striking, stroke indelible
a wrist, a pin, the pale stem of a rose
her point, round by my red hand and my right
her subtle bite of blood at ivory jaw
our trinity of sunbeam into sleep
but here, i kiss the center, mouth for eye
i taste it, as i take contested breath
i turn it, making weighted what was white
i let it fly, and earth will finish the matter
//
iii. air terjun
on this island, there are many waterfalls
come visit; then your tree trunk thighs will tremble
and collapse from the steep trail of descent
we seek her from the bottom, not the top
don’t think about the arduous way back up
the rising hell, and you will ache tomorrow
but the future needs to take care of itself
not like some infernal baby, wailing
our path is not yet ruined by the trash
yet discarded plastic has determined us
our dirty fingernails pry it out and carry
made little masters of unending refuse
shaded by foliage as we approach
the whiteout sound echoes off slippery slopes
of mud-washed stone, grip held by cliffside roots
and every footstep is precarious
place focus, eyes on feet and hands on limb
the green ravine her delving argument
into this living hollow of the land
the cave erasing history of water
to where her falling flight consumes the air
by roiling pool, our temporary here
our momentary test, like ice for legs
the same knees wobble forth to undergo her
into the storm, the fight white vertical
her standing soaking mountain-height of light
defeats the gaze, sheer upright counter-thirst
and roaring riddle; if you reach your arms to touch her
her closer is the punishment of rain
she smacks your skull and plasters down your hair
her current pummeling your blinded form
her action belongs to nobody
but how she caught my breath and draws me near
and how much love precipitous you take
and how her emptying invokes my ghost interior
and how i fail again, her force compelling my return
//
for Faded Love
a mystery
to me
isn’t growing
on the wood slat ventillation
of our teak cathedral sanctuary
roundish, brownish, like raw dough
it has been for three months or more
the same size, surface of a dinner roll
the same place, distance from center
tender abstract seamless fungal
too high for me to touch
the holy infant
of poetry
//
in memory of Oreithyia
a pearl exposed
on the one-way road
demands a rocky throne
her tritone howling
unhinging the jewelry jaw
its hunger pretending
its hook line preclaiming
lip angled by whether
lost inseam unseemly loss
the weightlessness of stone
//
my christmas tree
by this typical jaw
with four, six ellipses
make up arboreal
chipping ornaments
icicles of twisting glass
still if breathing
needles if leaves
it was in the drying
she would spread her wings
aroaming like memory
almost belonging
a sleeping forest
//
. . .
//
🌘
diptych oceanic amechanica
hysteriac at home
woe! i am a not altogether fortunate woman
my pocket seams with potsherds polishing
a bag of skin trailing portentous signs
and i am broken news, my sand is yellow
to find my edge, i walk into the sea
her seaweed briarpatch of gorgons birth
surrendered sky by pegasi recovery
as mermaids sing flat edges for my shanty
woe! her thanatos uncanny, even for me
the horizon roars for blessing every line
shore smashing every bauble blending shades
soft seashells made tangible the breast of ocean
and time is a tangent tracing its beloved snail
and the cradle failing of her continental tail
and she is drawing, drawing, under seasons wax
pink salty glowing in her seamless milk cocoon
woe, woe! my every mask a bending earth
reflowing throng of placeless impossibility
and desires every glance she didn’t chase yet
my marbles rolling in her depthless pocket
//
uteri
get em hot
skim cooling
like sumber bor
in 12 hrs or more
chocolate lava cake
stone melting
tropic shiver
truly your
earth dwelling
tacky decor
tasteless tasty
ova in—
ice tailor—
screaming
wicked
//
. . .
oh no!
dessert
amazing
1, 2, 3, ho!
smashing
to order
. . .
//
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
//
anywhere but poppies
it’s there
her pane of a window
passing passages
the passing offer to carry
ten thousand atomic lighters
black specks on a braid of challah
or liberate sweet nappers proper
a chilli-laced hotpot, shiitakis, bok choy
garlic, in the valley of compost boxes
loose her transportive reliquaries, poultices
dank delicious opacity compressed of air
silkworms for the mundane pocket
warm pillow for docket signifiers
fingertips heavy with tawny heads
inky notations with nowhere there
to fly, but into the measure, slightly high
pitched on a dry stone wall, for her
a pinkish reddish hazy third, with leaves
to breathe, past purple on the milky way
eclipse, her eyelid, her lippy friend
seamless tracing moving core
//
🌗
winter under wax & wick bottled
winter under wax
on church circle, dark december in the upstairs bar
a brass banister slides under my pink merino glove
words quiet, two or four of us at a mahogany table, hunter
green and a glass globe of spiced amber medicinal
or new years post-midnight, lit sobranie at the window
my flat over the cobalt classy resto where i worked
high-waisted and fetching wine for devil’s cash from tourists
my slanted bedroom walls still blue for my boss’s baby
alone finishing a bottle of champagne with poetry
down gazing over main street empty, marketed, icy
and lantern halo; uphill from the glossy wavering city dock
of Annapolis sleeping under the falling snow
in great hall, a baby grand conceived her toasty fingerprints
you found me there, immersive conjecture duo lingual
brought me back to your apartment, requested we tango
through leggy glasses of burgundy whether i broke a heart
doorways into sympathy revolving thresholds of regret
fellowships unbraided by such shallow recklessness
the turning years a blur between slow burns of clarity
or tether to a substance so precious it couldn’t endure
and was sanctuary sweet, i ask at the temple of winter
retasting an icicle of rarity until it self-sealed under wax
and aged like honey; when all around it had decayed
knotwork to dust, the bitterness of ashes and Egyptian sun
//
wick bottled
wax profane
waning lunar
wick bottled
yes
and i, old lady, lug down
but 61 ivories from the loteng
dear i’m sorry for these years
pyramidical procrastination
now
are they enough
for journey to Jeddah
//
Pharmakeia’s triptych
trippy destiny
true story: in her salad bruising days
her myspace name was like a prayer, Pharmakeia
the profiled face was drawing of a death
cap mushroom; well, consistency
and every day a salad day
and every day un po’ di morte
today, when sniper scopes an urban label
the same shaded and subtle botanical
renderings pop up from top of neon heap
left truffles for her canny little pig
for snorts and tickles, yet
a fact; and do you trust it
//
what marriage
the maskmaker who daily carries her
drew sigil gold and black on brown bag paper
Al-Lateef—his soft likeness sleeping by her pillow
beloved names for her beloved way
what reck does come to find
what wreck that came to ground
as travelers witness landslides and inundations
upheavals that by eagle’s eye the aftermath
counts losses, failure, countlessness; what hand
to brush a tawny cow, her long-lashed eyes
what blinded word to see
what marriage of then and now
//
big girl
she sees, by name, the blue of heaven’s white
behind how obvious a giantess
the light, the light, it hurts to look at it
so brightly shines a lofty signature
built body born from Isis warm
and catching form her dulcet veil
some Aphrodites are, it’s said, too tall
to be from brick wall read, too high to see
by tools of masonry; how broad her arms
great fools embracing sky of marbled earth
her reckoning like reckless love
big girl logician
//
🍄
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
//
the river lapis lazuli
no, O shining one; blue is not that place
where winter did reach down with hoarfrost arms
bent bones to bruise the springtime of your face
and turn bare beauty’s promise into grief
real damage there was done; i can’t pretend
my drunk neither forgets, nor lying, amends
that hunting season waiting down our tears
cool river measures turquoise, there to here
still no; blue shall not sing by Tristan’s chord
raw wounding round its thralling emptiness
how many months hungering that underworld
she spends, grave daughter, eating bitter ashes
if she is me, let sapphire be my child by you
whose ugly was the laughing sky of love
my labyrinth, your golden through-and-through
soft multitudes, the movements of your dying
and no; your course was not a trap for girls
exquisite river lapis lazuli
blue hemlock was your legendary cure
a momentary how it is, it is
azure, just piece enough for memory
what graces by your leaves still green in me
this grove might tender shelter; with blue to show
by silence of the tree who names it so
//
selamat purnama 🌕
//
& ten candles
on my horse loverly
logician patrician
still finishing his still
blue earthy pastel
for brave accompany
her genus differentia
mycelia mysteria
her lightest touches
dear puffins, potatoes
& tatami gauze
//
the lost marble & spice trade
the lost marble
news is, bad flooding in Sumatra; so i
put down my pen, examine my hands
and feel myself a chimpanzee that lost
its marble by these ten irresoluble things
compulsion as a typhoon turns its form
an eye that cannot hear; in filthy flux
a child clings to the minaret of a mosque
i have no word to turn it from its path
is every child the same across the globe
a digit hugging-to against the storm
inherent heart against the deafening blow
an act of curling tight to one held poem
so poet-magus turns her glass from one
true child to ten imaginary orphans just—
as here, as typhoon where, and whether i
was drowning in the sum of what they did
there was a marble somewhere in the mud
ten fingers prying ceaselessly for air
don’t let me be the word to cause a flood
don’t turn me like an eye without an ear
//
diptych
of survival
InsyaAllah
//
spice trade
you know we taste the weather of a word
or housewife by her sambal, like bitter salt
this kitchen hell and getting warmer, mad
desires to let out; adventuring to eat
a journey to her inward, fine-tuning cook
is converse travel whereby stirring builds
a tragic tongue to name her worldly khas
enchanting handfuls for like memory cast
seduction; spice trade, her nightly shedding veil
far-fishing season monger Sheherazade
queen turning by tantalized infinities
survivor storming mercy from the heat
//
sticky
i’m sticky after practice but i
can’t shower yet because thunder
drawbacks to living in paradise
and having an outdoor shower
just a reminder in case you forgot
my inbox is open, no less to a friend
this is your day, you wish, i follow
each morning impressed to find her hollow
especially to say happy birthday
//
greener lunar & glimmer
at dusk the unrequited grey finally weeps
and as i light my evening stick i see
a dragonfly, cool silver of the lasting day
geometer over the dimpling waterway
i count four nights until purnama again
her waxing time a misty studied book
like meaning in mossy witness a surprise
somnambulant for solar exercised
not jealousy her promise to conceal
deep cedar heavens the greenest flesh of me
weed pregnancy crescenting fernery
the bitter ocean growing wider, closer, fuller
my dream is not my dream; a greener lune
is shadow to be read through algal water
diagonals hunt her evolutionary square
boys hover over tears to catch a glimmer
//
🌔
//
the book itself
invoking maiden game
as female stupor is, i swear
moon’s blood misnamed
blasphemy
her temple ceiling
drinking from the sky
and evergreening walkers hear
the name: grow taller
//