From my new collection of poetry, ‘Animal Kingdom’
This is one of my prose pieces from my new collection I’ve been working on…
Seven steps to a Tableau Vivant.
In unadulterated working cubicles
and further galaxies—interstellar space
every day is
a morbid anatomy.
We are conjoined twins
you speak to me and a dead weight presses against my lips
you are a possum’s tail
a spawning salmon.
I am a guttered salamander
immersed in a posture of surrender
We have labelled incorrectly these dead beings
at the Zymoglyphic Museum,
under your skin a panorama of living creatures
the soil under your painted toes
these strange currents that run within you
culminate in the fogginess of your gaze
we both know the controversy surrounding
we both know of leather-winged folk
who left city lights
to swim again through other jungles
such spectacles at night
moving in a breathless flight.
You and I Virginia,
are fraudulent animals,
our inviolate limbs,
and queer protests lust after kingdoms
under our pendulous breasts,
prehistoric folk wanted to take our skin
flayed salted stretched and sun-dried
In a black and white photo
albino animals behind glass
toad, rabbit, birds, and a wallaby
poised in movement
theirs is a heartbeat in consent behind glass,
secured with metal stilts by dexterous hands
in a garden you and I will never know.
I have entered through two air-locks
it is not for security
but to keep the formallin
from spilling out
People at computers remain mephitically productive— entries and emails hold the clockwork universe together,
timetables of pink, purple,
wooden owls lucent, perched on keyboards.
doll-pink, doe-eyed, cloven-footed, limbs in cheese-cloth.
not like a japanese paper house
and not like the hay-bale houses we made at school
not like the partitioned houses made of itchy blankets
but the crash-pads made behind eyes
I am late today because no amount of needle and thread will do,
my head flops onto my shoulder,
my tail is dry and brittle,
my ears are filled with fluid,
and even my murmurs sound like nefarious screams
but at least the sound of my longing is tailor-made.