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My Ribs
I can count my ribs through the skin when I reach my hand blueskyward and it makes me feel strong as a stag and beautiful as the immaculate architecture of sunbleached bones on the hilltop lea.
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Tequila
From Neil de Grass Tyson’s lecture, “Stupid Design”: “…and what’s this going on between the legs? It’s like an entertainment complex located inside a sewer system.” Some of the best things in life...
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Naked in May
Not a wounded day, I said a wound of day, a gash where sun-rays rent the dun field of sky. Last week the earth-fields were too wet to plow, mid-May but still bare mud-skin and corn-stubble. Pretend you...
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Prayer
You imagine me in full flesh from the flat imprint on my shroud with distortions inevitable from person to persona to god. See me – corpus and spiritus. Touch me – bone and breath. I long to be born...
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sunrise
thermonuclear fusion the sun blasting over the east horizon radiating through the chill of low morning fog across the marsh from my feet to the top of my bare legs a fucking sensation in either common...
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Into the sky
The sky was too much for him, too high, too bright, too clear, too blue. He was drawn to the irresistible marbled pattern of cloud and its absence, and it filled him with emptiness, a vertigo of all...
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Gentrification: First Blush*
Squatting in the boarded-up brownstone of your fin-de-siécle love, in moieties of decay and splendor, sophistication, world-weariness and fashionable despair, I say it’s not habitation but rather my...
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Pent
Biking to work I am strong, fleet, a gazelle Darting between migrating rhinoceroses. Naked, leaning over the bathroom sink, I splash soap and water under my arms To wash away the animal scent So I can...
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…for a strange poem that wants to be beautiful
These are notes for a strange poem that wants to be beautiful. It starts, you will not be surprised to learn, with the full moon behind broken backlit clouds, shining through in a pattern that reminds...
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Reposted for Halloween
Halloween Posted on October 31, 2013 by Ray Sharp Winter night, cold and clear, pallid moon, a shining sphere, colder than a witch’s tit, exposed outside its black brassiere. The stars were bright,...
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