poem w/ dukes up
good of me good of me to be so tightly-packed
so slightly-stacked tiny a tidy tower held up by hair-pins
my body yearns for hammer-nails for shovels for pails
i’m snug waiting to be roughed up drugged on up
what’s the difference when i wanna be buried marked and unmarried
i want the rush of a tumble a snap-fingered rumble let’s come
my boy to blows tonight tongues pressed up to bleeding teeth
beneath swollen grin-spread lips leftovers from cracked-skin
knuckle punches exposed bone on the lumps of clenched fists
gristle & gravel mixed with dust in our rusted spit a split lip
before elbow hits below eye socket thick sickening crunch
& i’m rich with laughter i fight right back a swing attack
that soft spot a knot in the neck clobbering where one swallows
held aloft by coughing we float down & down
the whole way way down to that hole downtown where you
cover me in dirt & i keep letting you bloody me up
facefaceface
i thirst to be the pool you beautiful you gaze into
i ink a drawing of you in repose face pressed close to face that peers
back up let me be that face the voice that echoes voice
moss to mirror moss that climbs the ripple of your stony abs
spanish moss that drapes dangles you swirl your fingertips
across the surface let me be the pool you slip into let me hold you
reflect the brightest you let me be what you cannot resist
the hook that draws you in the cold & empty pool that swallows you
