cold soup

[beautiful liar]

[beautiful liar]

Tourist Season

in summer the sky
seems to double its height

cerulean church ceiling
arcing from the distant peaks
encompassing the
scope of the world
beneath its painted dome

just don’t look down
to where the bodies of
the brash prairie dogs
are pulped on the asphalt
so thick even the fat magpies
cannot erase the slaughter

of tourists passing through
on their way to the mountains

[beautiful liar]

Clifford’s Tower

When you enter my room, I’m staring at the map on my wall.

While you undress me, I imagine I’m walking through York,
from Clifford to Tower Street, around the building where Jews
burned themselves to escape the medieval mob outside.

Their screams resound: women’s pitched high above
men’s, and babes’ cries stifled against the breasts of clutching
mothers, praying black acrid smoke would grant them clemency.

Dark char streaks the walls. The roof has never been replaced.
Every night the stars observe where, for a brief instant,
human bodies became luminous, until the fire asphyxiated.

While you take my body, I’ll be in England,
standing in the scorched tower,
smouldering.

[Lando]

your poem reminds me of

[beautiful liar]

sweet! i wonder what kind of drugs you have to feed a dog to make it grow so large?

or perhaps i should wonder what kind i should take to make the dogs appear that way!