Seasons Greetings

Hello dear.

I've been thinking about you. I had a family Christmas party the other evening and the love of your life showed up. You remember him, don't you? He wanted to start a business that sold the skin of the chicken on its own and then he wanted to start his own television show. He asked about you. I told him you were doing fine. We made out in my hot tub for two hours after the party died down.

I really love you dear. I do. This isn't just the alcohol speaking at all - I've been thinking about you.

The Trees, The Trees

someone stole your table!

i know, i tried to stop them but i couldn't -
i was two floors down, you know.

someone asked me why i like you -
why do i like you:

your hair is wrought dry like hair held too
long in fists and never brushed.
i can imagine what it would be like to grab your
hair in my fist and few by few twist until
it was too dry,
and if you tried to do the same to me,
i would demand you desist.

the lines in your face by your mouth which
i touch and draw squares from.
i can imagine what it would be like to take your
head in my hands and one by one kiss until
it was too dark,
and if you wasted my pale skin like that,
i would attempt to resist.

i know!
i spoke, i know.
do you remember when i spoke?
it was the last straw and you were about to fall -
i know, i know.

you left,
i know!

your eyes are like mine in these flourescent
times and i'd like to keep tall
and not staring at all search to find the resemblance
and try some until we got over the ground
and not caring
if you tried with your eyes to resist
i would attempt to insist.

you looked,
i saw!
i know!

and the trees, the trees -
do you know you're such a tease,
what is it about those god damn trees.

Pigeon Kill

just so you know the reason that i
hate you is because when i see the
glint of your skin i already
know what you will taste like.

even though my legs are tall and my foot
is strong to stomp you,
i know you could kill me -
you have a beak and i am scared of your skin.

your skin glints different colours depending
on the light and every time i discover a new colour
i hate you more.
your feathers don't even look like feathers anymore,
they look like pieces of paper painted with gloss
and metallic shimmers.
you have a beak and i know it could take my eyes out.

just so you know i hate you because i can already see
the path of your skin,
i know where you will end and still i can't control you -
when you come crossing near to me i turn and run.

even though i know you will be served on a plate when you die
i will not eat you but i will take your meat and throw it
against the wall, and even though i fear it
if i had the chance i'd take your claws and one by one
i would break the bones and one by one i would pull
the feathers from your wing and leave them on the ground.

i found you the other day, freshly shot and dead on the sidewalk
and i could not run. i saw you the other day with a puddle
of blood more red than your claws pooling around your head and
i did run -

the very thought of you dead
makes me want to revive you and kill you again,
makes me wish i was responsible for the kill.

i could have lifted you and put you
right into my mouth, i already know
how badly your skin would have tasted.

Heavy Mind

the daft one smokes her joint,
and so do i too feel the need,
the allowance for this deal -
sacrifice the mind for want of nothing,
sacrifice the thought for want of nothing -
the word means other things,
the lack of sound, lack of pounding equals sane.

i used to care for clothing but now i bear it,
wanting only the look of some trees
while i sedate my mind with the passing of the bark
into paper.

can the earth be rolled and understood,
can the matters of the earth prevail?
and if not where am i found -
you probably wondered why i am so quiet,
you probably wondered why i have nothing to say;
when we talked i wasn't right until i smoked it.

we undress and i am shocked by your bones,
i would never want to lie between your bones,
just so you know,
but still i am shocked by your breast and your chest with my legs,
and my chest and my breast with your legs,
one is perfect, and one is not -
what do the words mean?

what does it mean to care for the earth
when your foe thinks just of paper?
what does it mean to know for the earth
when you still have need of paper -
when shall we be measured and who by?

this intuition of trees, this intuition
of paper does not exist if we still try.

i'd like to take your baggage and compare
your want to mine -
did you grow up in the trees?
i will take your baggage and roll it next to mine
until the leaves become the measure of the word
and paper dies.