when i was 7
i
sat
on
a long sharp type of stick

long sharp type of stick
thrusting
up
out of
dark earth

long sharp type of stick
penetrating
skin
hiding
entrance
to
labyrinth

skin penetrated
by
long sharp type of stick
alone
in
gone
to
seed
garden
i
lost  
this skin

i was 16
when
i 
was 
taken
by
a
man
ah!  ah!
stick was sharp
skin
that
hid
entrance
to
labyrinth
gone

man 
cheated
by
long sharp type of stick
said
i
was
not
virgin

ah! ah!

stick was sharp
he
left
me
for
another
moaning
to her
i
was
not
virgin

ah! ah!

stick was sharp

he
kept
my
photograph
in her
cutlery
drawer
 

what a wonderful conceit
she cried
from white lips
as the black car
sped past
high desiccated windows
brick shops

bound close
on leather seats
they held education
between them
like a cancerous cake
candles
piercing
the icing

the one
without education
felt the floor
beneath her feet
too near the road

she had touched
leather bound
books

your blue linoleum
shines 
with tears 

all day 
your fan 
whirls on a long stick

you have nailed
Truman Capote
to your outhouse wall

your white dress  
is spotted 
with blood

you glide down 
the long hall
through the courtyard
past a thorned lemon tree 
wild majoram in a broken pot
blood red sticks
of rhubarb

your white dress 
is spotted 
with blood

the light shines 
between the cracks 
in your 
outhouse

i have been given a young umbrella tree
she hath a white twisted trunk
in a configuration
of
3

this tree did dwell in the bedroom
of
a
man
who possessed a cello’s voice
a quaking bed
3 tall windows that stared at mountains

this man was obsessed by a blue & white beauty
the umbrella tree witnessed long nights
of
betrayal
on her slender leaves
her tortured trunk
spots
appeared

one day i entered this room
the umbrella tree was dying
in her branches he’d hung
the picture
of
a guru
at her feet he placed
plant food
white
as a blind man’s stick

over the cruel floor boards
her aura reached out
nearer & nearer to death’s seed
my painted eye

i have been given a young umbrella tree
she hath a white twisted trunk
in a configuration
of
3

she doth dwell outside my door
each morn
i touch her spots

i have become the spot healer
tho
my
spots
remain

nesting in souls shade
i cannot remove them

as a child
you sat alone
year after year
under a christmas tree
praying over presents
you never opened

every easter
you saved
your hard icing easter eggs
keeping them
in your mother’s refrigerator
examining them
at regular intervals
until they fell to pieces
and your mother
threw them away

you say you are going mad

between siena’s thighs
you could be reborn
or live out an imitation
of that which causes
horror to Soul

on trail for committing
the act
of
birth & death

that skittery stuff
of
loves palace
makes teeth on edge
remembering the fatness
of
an education board
chalk

was it in umbria when siena became
a woman
the stone lodged in the high walled tomb
me thought i heard you singing
calling
vipers bride

i don her veil
flower upon flower
the slime of secretions

adornment
in a decay of seed pearls

a rummaging ruby
to
cover
hearts
hardening case