moonpieces. fragments out of ordinary

full moon

open mouth
admit a truth
too late
the man’s face
ripples a silver smirk on black water
and whisky
to the devil angel flies
play your blood electric guitar
pluck out fire
of name
your lips mouth
o moon
guppy out of water
choke on reality
oxygen’s a cold comfort now
isn’t it?


trap-ease

just a fingernail’s worth of booze
and she’s seeing the moon as if a glass half full
ever talk to her
she walks where you would never
circus animal girl on stilts
truth swallower
give her a look
she’ll set you
on fire

whereabouts at night

there she goes again
smelling the moon
haven’t you told her
a thousand times
you’ve seen her fly
pluck it like a daisy
she’s gone
there’s a hole
in the sky
where you look

this harvest

dreams of soft butter moon
lemon cake rise
big enough to taste
what’s come over you
what you crave
isnt sugar

soon, gothic

after the sun bloodset horizon abandon
geese flown vee getaway
alone no moon all this walk
dark corners sidewalk crevice night blooms
crow call black water
who’s afraid of empty sky

The Molecular Structure of Marriage

A marriage carries no electrical charge.

is made up of two or more partners,
of same or different sexes,
joined by one or more covalent
chemical bonds.

is in constant motion.

its state (solid, liquid, or gaseous)
depends on speed
on separation.

its compound is represented
by a marital formula.

A more complex structure
shows
the arrangement.

In a chemical reaction between spouses,
is often broken apart
into radicals that recombine to form
other. Two or more
will form a single larger,
or a large will be broken up
into several smaller.


of women, H2,
each consists
of two atoms of hydrogen.

of men, H2O,
contain an atom of oxygen
as well as two of hydrogen.

A heterosexual bond, CO2,
is linear.

Common law , C6H6,
carbon atoms form a ring
hydrogen atom
joins carbon atom.

More complex form
rings, chains, helices.

Polyamorous
resemble giant helices.
small
join to form a single large
polymer.

Love was interchangeable until the early
nineteenth
century.

The Columbia Electronic Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition Copyright © 2003, Columbia University Press. Licensed from Columbia University Press. All rights reserved. www.cc.columbia.edu/cu/cup/ More from Encyclopedia

Conjugal Verbs

Plunderotica

through dark streets model
took off
kimono one hand
on parasol

go on

aching still trembling glitter of world
mummy swatched ghost
of Baudelaire
wind dying now
last of violence

do you want it, do you want it
dying eye fragment
spacious dreams of stone
toppling sluggish edifices studded
with gems coagulated with human
sperm

dipped finger in whiskey touched nipples
tips hard and red
settled regions wild
called to rise

murky light
fumbling fingers
scum on tongue
drop in eye
drink in pottle
itch in palm
gush of fundament fire
in gorge tickle
of tail

hullabaloo

pieced together by Amanda Earl.
My text comes from three sources: Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, Anais Nin's Little Birds and Emily Dickinson's Selected Poems.

The Who-Dunnit Collage

pieced together by Amanda Earlw/c = 389 wordsThe consequences of two men wrestling (1): the infinite erotic civilization we created is declining now (2). What manner of sinners do you have in Rome? They must be grand ones. I have seen much wickedness and cannot be deceived (3). All these people! Intermingled and jabbering and as much confusion among them, to me, as there is in my own mind. The sources reveal a people endowed with valuable qualities, hemmed in by stormy seas along a narrow strip of coastline, dense forests and steep mountain ranges behind them (now filled with flunkies, whistle-punks, chokermen, cat-skinners, the fiery mountainsides and stands of trees disappearing. (4)

To think the connection between my introspective black companion and those outcrop rocks taking the brunt of the ocean-this requires a stretch of the imagination. (5)

Her eyes were set so deeply the colour was hidden from a distance and he was surprised now by the emerald shade of them. Green as sea glass. (6) If you have ever seen the green in water that is forever flowing out to mystery and adventure then you know something of the colour of her eyes. (7) Along the river, trees are stranded bare as witches and dark as the woman who never learned to love one man. (8) She could never have imagined that a woman would lie beneath a man who grins like an ape fully clothed in a tattered tunic, ten feet from a body freshly abandoned by the spirit in its blood. (9) He lies there in a wilderness of sheets and his body inhabits strange spaces, oblique dimensions; like the keen emptiness of a child's eye, it offers me no entry and no alibi. (10)

Warned her to keep indoors with politic goodwill, not haste into a landscape of stark wind-harrowed hills and weltering mist; but from the house she stalked intractable as a driven ghost. (11)

I knew that it would happen like this. I hear the clouds of kestrels circling. The leaving. The solitude. (12) Finally the shape of the dream appears. Her arms in the cold air, holding the cutting tools. Space like glass. (13)

I see her head bowed in thinking of me, by the river, her beautiful eyes searching inside for the proper famous thought of me she loved. Ah my angel-my new angel, black, follows me now-I exchanged the angel of life for the other. (14)

(1) "certain works of carl stewart, artist" rob mclennan, name, an errant p. 44
(2) "The Erotic Civilization" A.F. Moritz, Night Street Repairs, p. 33
(3) "7. To The Church at Rome" K.I. Press, Spine, p. 56
(4) "Resources, Certain Earths, John Newlove, Moving In Alone, p. 72
(5) "1. Otherwise than place" Don McKay, p. 16
(6) Michael Crummey, The Wreckage, p. 13
(7) "Poem For A Tall Woman" Robert Priest, Scream Blue Meaning, p. 118
(8) "At Nootka Sound" Susan Musgrave, What The Small Day Cannot Hold, p. 6
(9) "Adrienne, Stephen Brockwell, Fruitfly Geographic, p. 47
10) "Hypnos" Gwendolyn MacEwen, Volume One, The Early Years, p.163
(11) "The Snowman On The Moor" Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems, p. 58
(12) A Basket of Distress" T. Anders Carson, Folding The Crane, p. 49
(13) "Hope Stories: I Signal Fire" Erin Moure, Sheepish Beauty Civilian Love
(14) "The Legend of Duloz," from Maggie Cassidy, Jack Kerouac, The Portable Jack Kerouac, p. 70

For an explanation and call for submissions for Plunderverse

When did you first know you were happy?
not till now, really, on this bench, in the sun

Why now?
i can let air touch

Do you still dream of flying?
i’ve already flown

Where is home?
you know

& if you could sing, the song/is all that would go/ anywhere
Barry McKinnon, Bushed, The Centre

with this beat
you can lose yourself
annihilate perpetual rhythm
electro-guitar shock therapy
drum a saffron thread thru veins
only then you unclench

find the shade
move further and further
away
soon the light needle silvers nanosecond

sells you by the jug, the hour
wind fills empty
echoes
hollow
echo

out of body

When did you first learn to levitate?
there are times i can’t touch down

Is it like swimming? Can you do the elementary backstroke?
i stay on my back, almost never look down

Are stars hot or cold?
they taste good with a little salt

Are you always alone?
no, i am not the only child to float

these are the fringes

of everything
the leaves, the vines,
the twisted
boughs

don’t you know
roots are contagious
spreading under ground
tangled planted
mud rotten and gnarled

when you walk
don’t let your feet

touch

tornadoed

is your suitcase packed
what will happen when you discover
there are places like home?

you carry it on your back
pack animal
whirlwind
don’t touch
(d)
o
w
n

beets

edible hallelujahs
juice of taboos her fingers sucked clean
your hunger
stained lips

it starts like this

in a kitchen cooking beets
let ‘em cool/slip off skins/slice ‘em
scent of
pickled ginger
apple cider vinegar
sesame seeds toasted

wooden spoon
her hands stirring
as you watch

alchemy

remember your on his
and how he
recoiled

lips trap air into yes gilded
words
melted down

his hands / your shoulders
flex of gold in his eyes

i was thinking you look like
russell crowe
and can i take you home

i was thinking i’m afraid
of glass
my shattering

i was thinking i
have beautiful legs

your hair is much too short
for my fingers to grab on to

i was thinking i’ll have to
moan when you enter me
sometimes i forget the script
and might yell out
my you have delicious tomatoes

i was thinking
i should learn to count
meditation is the act of breathing
out, out

i was thinking
there’s a holiday inn
nearby

after Bachinsky’s Spy Cam: The Surveillance Series, in Curio: Grotesques and Satires from the Electronic Age

At river’s edge. Water-touched. Skirt-burnished dandelion. Moccasins damp. A lover. Mist over rapids. Crows always up early. He hears her. Red silk for heat. June berry rolled between fingertips. A painting. Straw hat and sleeveless. Riverbank remembers.

Riverbank remembers. Straw hat and sleeveless, a painting. June berry rolled between fingertips. Red silk for heat. He hears her. Crows always up early. Mist over rapids. A lover. Moccasins damp. Skirt-burnished dandelion. Water-touched. At river’s edge.

Lobster

some of this is true
you chose the biggest male
fat claws pummeling the air
conversation picked clean
pale silence and sucking sounds
butter on your chin
shells cracked empty
relegated to the garbage heap

shucking – an aphrodisiac

special knife to split shells
thumb inside
parts, then holds open
slice the muscle
serve on half shell
lemon juice, Tabasco
the act of swallowing
whole

wanted

defiers of gravity
anti-clockwise glorifiers
palindrome fetishists
digital deity worshippers
moist skin enthusiasts
celebrants of the closed window

a line vibrates
between us
feel its pull

The Butterfly Collector

these are things I’m not allowed to say
like when I first saw you
I wanted you
and if I had the strength
I would have taken you
pushed you up against the wall
and pinned you
like a young butterfly
not to keep you under glass
but to let you colour the air
above my bed
just one flutter of your black lashes
against my skin
and I will let you
go

Here's my first blog. I'll start off with my favourite links to help you celebrate, cry and reach out.
www.campsark.com is the home of SARK, a kindred spirit and mentor of mine who has written extensively on living juicy and healing.
www.ronsexsmith.com is the site for Ron Sexsmith, Canada's troubador of sweety, sexy and sad.
www.girlatplay.com is mainly the diary of a woman who wants to follow her creative path full time. She's an inspiration!
www.anothergirlatplay.com more women who let their creative juices flow.