Gram

I'm a capable granddaughter
capable of grand sin
with long legs and mustard quarters
I am often unsure of where I'm going
or where I've been
lower your red lips in my mulched mound with a shy grin
drinking lukewarm crystal water from my spiral tower
like we're more than friends
power hour gin shots from the tip of your pink cock
wearing grandmother's thick skin
and my own ruffled socks

I'd stop
but it's not in my tight-fitting genes
your hand in a hot fist wrapped tight around my spleen
we throw secrets against the wall
tally the score
and repeat
found grammy on the kitchen floor bleeding red and deep
laid beside her
closed my tired eyes
and went to sleep.

TA

My Wild

Standing in your lion's toes
proudly prancing like a king of beasts
the king of me
calling with a roar for what is yours
demands in droves
the swell of your pale breast in the open fold of your robe
a lion in human's clothes
lying in the thick grass bare ass'd daring me from repose
to slip like a snake up the long line of your white leg
to poach
dare to hope
take from you what you'd gladly give
if only I'd live like you live
if only I'd put on a little show
twirl my lion wild
my soft pussy willow

but what no one knows
your warm killer's breath
actually blows cold.

TA

Junkyard Blues

Car parts and body parts white gravel graveyard
where nothing starts
intelligent grid-work design to help find
the exact jacked husk
stacked on rusting rims
but nothing out here has a heart
warped fenders
art to some men
slim jeans in the pushcart desert of dead cars

sharp cracked glass where some lad was last seen alive
last drive
put your forehead where his brains were spread
hunt the dash for the history of bashed parts bled

there shredded rubber
here an engine component
I want to own it
all
but fuck!
what would I do with half a carburetor
from a busted 1987 pick-up truck??

TA

Born of Diamonds

I was born of diamonds on a lazy Monday Afternoon,
wearing Ray Bans and a jean jacket and leather pantaloons,
marooned in a cocoon of placenta juice pushed
   from the loose caboose of my mother a little after two,
her abdomen tattoo stretched out of proportion
   and her nipple rings lubed for precaution,
Dad somewhere racing street bikes at auction
   while the doc filled out the forms for my adoption,
they offered me stock options,
a stuffed owl,
and a forgotten vile of assassin's toxins,
rubbed me down with a towel soaked in long barrel aged whiskey,
that delicious odor made me typsy
   and since the whole gotdamn affair was so gotdamn risky
   I didn't mind paying a little more for some dirty Sixth St kitty,
   some pretty Creole girl with tea cup titties from the inner city
   who could ride me like Sam Clemens on the Mississippi,

shifty John Cash songs coming out of the radio
   had me impatient to go,
but I had to wait an extra hour for that old Chinese nurse
   to shower my pink parts
   before I could be cleared to depart,

Mom kissed me on the head,
offered me some of her milk and a slice of bread,
said,
"dear boy,
I thought I had to shit,
went to sit,
and had a child instead."

TA

A Question From The Shadows

You still plan on marrying
that man?

in your bra and panties
pulling down on my hand
into the last strand of black hair beneath a clover-colored cotton g-string
clinging to the sharp bones of your hips
the blood once in my cheeks already streaking to other
parts of me
while
that man
sleeps somewhere in the night air
dreaming of wedding bells
and the hell of marriage
the devil disparaged because of the way
that man
cherishes the thought of being married
savage loyalty garrisoned in the swell of his proud chest
blessed as he is to spend the rest of his life
with you
blue blood between his thighs
love without lust in his blue eyes
your panties on the lamp shade
and your bra on the rose pattern drapes
and
my tongue slipping like a snow storm up and down your neck's nape
tasting your sweat under the pressure of my shark bite
the city and the stars and the souls of every living creature
are ours tonight
in the darkness
there is light
in the moment of death
there is life
that sleeping man has no idea how sharp is the edge of the knife

and he is right to be ignorant
rounders placing bets dog-tired and sly
oh how he delights in the dreams of his new found bride
the devil tried to warn him

he tried.

TA

The Old Tiger

who are you?
you asked

I am the old tiger
satin fur
sliding in and between and through the bamboo
your delicate skull beneath these killer's claws
holding captive the thoughts you refuse to reveal to us
such an interested audience
bent on loving you
on destroying you
on setting your mind as free as the blood that runs like rivers
   through this broken land
now soft claws padding across your night-time lawn
I watch you take your clothes off
holding your breasts in your tiny hands for the mirror
treating your skin in such a sexless way I find absolutely
palatable

tap-dancing along the shaft of the hunter's arrow
in the shade of gum-gum trees
where monkeys glide through jailhouse bars of moonlight
singing
hallelujah
hallelujah
the ol' tiger still has his stripes

it could have been any soul

wearing that skin like a blanket
crossing wooden fences after midnight
to steal through stranger's backyards
stepping among the intimate ensemble of their private lives
catching you in the glass
my firefly
in the bent crease of those dusty fading vinyl blinds

an opulent songbird snatched from her perch by the old tiger
on the prowl for perfect things
to feast
to sleep
by God this old man must eat!

and you've got the bones best gnawed on.

TA