Old Pieces

Beauty in Chaos

Snip
Snip
Snip

You skim stockings
hands trapped in scissors
scarring baby toes
piercing a brittle ankle
puncturing a cloudy vein.

You lick bloody sweetness
to my knees
nibbling at the junction
between
post revolution innocence
and 80's rebellion.

Metal along waistline,
you catch elastic
that turns to chain
my guardian angel's hand at my waist
breaking yours.

Snip
snip
snip.


***************

Skin

Skin against skin,
he breathes soft,
touches me.

My fingers
along his arm
playing him like a piano.

I trace shoulders,
he sighs
soprano.

Gliding mouth
from shoulders
through torso
to pelvis,
I curve like a guitar,
tongue
plucking hip bones.

High pitched
G force.

*******************

Mime In Berlin

I crawl through the crumbling ivy
that webs in the breath
of East Berlin.

The ground I tread
is charcol
smeared beneath
a dead sky.

I can't remember the colour of the sun.

I am paste
on a wall
my skin is stretched
across framework
in attempts of assimilation.

I can't remember the colour of your eyes.

My fingers are cold.
I am too brittle to dig
into the swell of your life.
I trace air instead.


*****************************

High Art

with sweaty palms
we dig into swollen bellies
hallowing out the past.

we are artists

with sharp silver
we paint pale canvases
with tainted blood
draining waste.

we are artists

with sleek spinning rubber
we smudge life
across concrete,
eliminating clutter.

we are artists.

**********************************