Milk filth//A nude portrait of self



Milk, filth, and honeyed starry dew  lingers.

The doll-face strips sky down, her honey eyes

heavy laden with pink skinned pale plastic wild.

Her puppetry strings, intelligent enough to speak,

this, too, began in the theatrics of light and dark.


Goodbye, artifacts: rooms without locked doors,

steps without concrete path, flint made from flint.


Goodbye, fidelity. Adieu, adieu –,

think bathed filleted, flickers of tiny wrist.




you are a diaphanous              aureate delicacy

you are expensive wine in a mysterious         cellar

your bone china skin turns                 burgundy

in an impenetrable green         glass bottle


budding       the longer you wait


you are a cagey minx

who slithers on your empty

fecund belly


your time wasted is no longer

wasted time between intervals

of love and hate


you are organized chaotically

within a sense of spacious space.


Featured photo courtesy of the author.

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