April 28th, 2014


Sabrina Chap asked how theatre is like life


Each day we think ourselves into a part
remember lines we know we'll say again
but get the reading better. We are vain
looking in mirrors, painting on our heart

the lines that make us lovelier than true.
Eyes are the heart's outlying viceroys
painted they talk in shadows that are noise.
And we add lashes, stick them on with glue.

The mirrors magnify. We grow in size
in our own minds and go out on a stage
love becomes Lover, anger becomes Rage.
A different rule of consequence applies

and then we hear applause. Smooth on cold cream
wipe wake. Is life or theatre the dream?

Not nice, but what I meant to say


Lust claws me hollow. Hunger is desire
is need for bite scratch kiss. My skin stretched sore
with unborn things unuttered. Cunt's a door
rage batters from inside. I never tire

though ache in every limb so unfulfilled.
I like to think I love, believe I do.
Yet yearn for touch that fits as foot in shoe
with toes that wiggle. When my heart is stilled

then ends sweet torment but for now the rack
I wind and suffer, bone creak sinews torn
pain is my last best fuck. The skin is worn
to tatters where I writhe upon my back

Crone out of nightmare, pants and sweats for hours.
Unsatisfied unlovely fierce. Devours.