Autobiography of Total Frustration


I am as much a mouth as
some deep curvature for longing
which tries to articulate a suppressed appetite
like mud soup in tree knots.

The dirt doesn¹t scare me because
my variegated skin has a numbness
of drowning while my shadow becomes
a jackknife blade in a jackknife; probing
the hungry dirt.

I was a different story years ago. Flourished
years ago.

Now, inside me
is the story I cannot bring
to surface beyond peach.

Like posturing a walk,
I leave messes behind, bring
oranges and secrets
in combat arms.

Cool, hot, relentless and clear
I am a question of steam.
A self-indulgent imagist
inspired by aesthetics or
some anonymous space
left by my father.