Island Poems: got mittens?
are you presenting your ideal self
I'm back in makeup land today
I wouldn't wear a lipstick red
to saw through metal
trust me
what kind of makeup then
oh just an outline of the deepest black
magenta underlid a splash of plum
spread to a stain winedark
it goes right to the brow
a perfect simulacrum
hematoma periorbital
so what is real then
pain
pain makes you
beautiful
(she pours a molten golden thread
into a crucible he hobbles
in a cast towards burrard
i like black eyes
i had no doubt
here's what i know about a face
punched flash of white
superimposed upon a black corona
ah yes and now through me he passes
into the gilded towns of glory through me
he passes to eternal joy
and to the skin a rush of blood
a radiating heat
a colour
through me among the persons
found for aye supremest wisdom
and primeval love employs
and you
the prostitute
the wife
the canny puppeteer
and me
I'm what's for breakfast