OUR TORTOISE SHELL TENTS

Our tortoise shell tents thrown up against an almond sky,
our masks made from the wood of emeralds and the skins of aqueducts,
we drew the bows of porcupines across diamond-shaped strings
constructed from the bones of ancient vagabonds
who'd danced beneath a fur-covered moon.
Our music swirled from the tops of trees
and leapt on zebra's hooves beyond the galaxies.
The day of carnival flung its howls into the night
and our feet followed our voices in their leaps beyond the stars.
A new world swirled in our eyes,
a dancing world that whirls away beyond the prison of words.
Tonight we invite anyone who will come
to taste the strong wine of our adventure.
We fermented this wine from the burning fires of Sadean passions
aged in the dreams that drip from my finely toothed vulva.
the carnival fires are the gleams of the ruins we leave in our wake.

SUCH WONDERFUL DISTRESS...

I never expected to feel such a dancing disaster
playing over the nerves beneath my skin.
It was as if I had powered them with the famous acid
that grins within the shoulders of a mermaid.
I had seen her many years ago
washed up on the shore and singing.
Silver tears rolled down her cheeks
to form a cheese of fine consistency
with a flavor that formed carnivals
within the loving mouth.
I offered her a crimson seashell
that floated like a boat
and sailed with her to unknown shores
where the sand glittered in gentle greens
and blues
reminiscent of the perumes of Arabia.
From these I crystallized a purple wine
more intoxicating than the dreams of paradise
that had circled like tornadoes
over the graves of wise cuttle fish
and hunted for the silken minds of children
who had knives for eyes
and stared down every
uniformed conformist.