- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Vertical Spite
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Spread thinly near the edge
Cold blade on warm skin
Shining butter knife
Spatula of creamy rite
Looked over from five angles
Half bathed, horizontal
Dives to lower reach
Less freedom in slumber
Tied to shoes tied to wrists
Linking ash to tattoos
A former rushing, once horrid now kin occupies the local womb.
Up in the hourglass to the breach, pass to the other sides, the tip
Of home or hole now drifting away above, a tube just right for
Escape, tight enough for comfort, falling up, never lost,
Just slightly, always out of reach
