(inadequate)

Can this poem
reflect the waters? Red balloon
survives the storm

(love poem #3)

I love you close,
noses touching. Hand to cheek. 
You go; faith eludes me

(stick)

what could go wrong
with braids in my hair, with trains,
with our elbows touching

(Sunday morning)

blueberry juice,
books, oatmeal in the living room,
beeswax candles, lit

(the theme consistent to all of your writings)

The theme consistent
to all of your writings is loss. 
Yes, and wanting.

(oh)

her bong rips, hands
painted mug green hair, eyes,
grunge rock. she dances

(sorry music, soul)

I meant to silence
the commercial but I silenced the whole
series of songs.

(ceramics)

his hands shaped bowls.
he gave them-- green, black-- to me.
I drank from them.

("I'm gonna watch a little baseball")

Blue crabs, Cal,
the Chesapeake. O say
fuck you you motherfuckin yankee

(in parts)

Impossible,
to render love in human form: 
biting, ego, blood.

This is why they call for
God, whom they might call
bloodless. boneless, no-

flesh, deceive me. rise
to his flesh: resurrection, through
insurrection--

We have sex
not to end the wanting but to increase
the wanting which is

paramount-- which maybe is--
love. but born of conflict.


There is a contradiction.
here, take my hand, let me love
you, let me suck your blood

see, love,
how sharp my teeth?