Garnetchild

I am Saturn's wife and child.
I am adoration, the devoration
of self, sixty-two orbits that bite at my
sweet flesh, holding sickles to bar me.
My pores burst forth geraniums.
I am womb-in-waiting, fires of war,
I am the bloodstained sword
and the cow that lows nightdeep.
I am furred, horned. I am scaled
by your deft hands on the piano.

Saltsick III

sweetsalt taste in tea leaves, in tears
in bitten fruit, in smooth pitpebbles
sinking stoneheavy to stomachrest
to play marbles in knotted gut
bubble from babbling lips and strike
once, twice, knocking at a waiting door

(the old lady's a witch teethrotted
hunchbacked and clever, spinning wisdom
from arthritic fingers, broken wrists,
pay her, pay her, pay her and leave)

this is the importance of a weight
on your bastard tongue, this is how
hands raised to a sun dawning and
elbows tucked in to raised ribs and
foreheads bowed for family and
back down to the sweat on your brow.

Apology

lead you away
from these false idols
warm hands within mine
smelling of basil
smelling of salt
smoke-choked
ashen.

fold the bloody sails
trace the words
steeped
scrawling
"dear you
so sorry
my heart is monstrous"

teeth bared
coming down hard
wishing yourself away
you've had enough of these bastards

can't keep my promises
you smashed the bottles
ferns lying restless
under your fingernails.
you'll see the sun.

after Waterflower

these strings,
these aching strings,
these bee-hum
rotten apple strings,
these whale-song strings,
gutted cat, heart laid open,
scalpel sweet strings,
these mother-tear strings,
gull strings, sea-ice strings,
damp melancholy strings,

drone gently,
gently. 

making it clear

wormeaten
oiled and offered
pinned to
stakes tall as a man
for the tomatoes
for the ripening
darlings the sunfetched
darlings noisy and cumbersome
guiltridden
definitely wormeaten
darlings the rising
beast and the
hatchling dears and the
toothpecked shell
bruising leaves and
peppermint scented

threes and fours, rising beast,
here he comes,
here he comes,
here he comes

I am acquainted with the shock
of a midnight garden
the grit and unease
and ghost winds that blow from my neighbours' houses.

Kennel

have you always been this rabid, darling,
foaming at at your chapped lips -
or did you snap along with your chain
and take to gnawing the bones of friendly hands?