* * * * *
STOAT
head hums
with warm
like a mill
grinding gold
seeds of wheat
through i sneak
teeth tugged
by tides
of tones
towards sinew
to sink into
and a pelt
to line my
brood’s bed:
my business.
no time
to hold
lost human-
babe souls
but of course
we have ceremonies
for death.
like a mill
grinding gold
seeds of wheat
through i sneak
teeth tugged
by tides
of tones
towards sinew
to sink into
and a pelt
to line my
brood’s bed:
my business.
no time
to hold
lost human-
babe souls
but of course
we have ceremonies
for death.
LULA BELL
our mother’s dog-stars
we snarl in the back seat
cat-girls who insist
on holding our hands up
like paws in boxing gloves
there's a tiny satin bow at
there's a tiny satin bow at
the peach-flesh neckline
of the leotard we fight over
you tell me it'll turn into a
you tell me it'll turn into a
praying mantis when we swim.
in photos from that day
in photos from that day
we wade in the green dust-milk lake
you in pink and me
in bow-less black.
your grown leg is scarred
four deep red dog-tooth divots
and your forearm branded
with a black ink baskerville hound
black of black beauty
or the black shadow legs
you swear you saw hanging from the ceiling in our bedroom
or the sheen-dark hexagons round your eyes
and your forearm branded
with a black ink baskerville hound
black of black beauty
or the black shadow legs
you swear you saw hanging from the ceiling in our bedroom
or the sheen-dark hexagons round your eyes
that you pride in
sister lustily seeking seekers
soft animal scratching your head
-so full
sister lustily seeking seekers
soft animal scratching your head
-so full
what is this business?
it isn’t steel wool and cast iron
in a small sea of oily
silted froth, and heat
it isn’t magnetic fingers
through hair
or rich soil
or wood table with four legs
* * * * *
