Your words are like acupuncture. Healing taxed by pin-pricks, Stabbing at my self-image because, Like acupuncture, they were useful While something was wrong with me. But I have moved beyond recovery. Thank you for the reconstruction. Thank you for my new vitality, For my fresh and hunting sexua...Read more

There is a piece of the old laundromat Wrapped unceremoniously around my wrist. This little bangle, this tiny copper cuff, Has become a lightning rod. Sometimes, I hang my hand out the window, Driving down the highway with my music And the violent wind whips and flogs it, Sapping away my heat. Eve...Read more

With crooked lines I trace The creases of my face. They deepen more and more, In every open space, And taunt me from the pores. But are they truly there? Even when I stop, stare: My eyes are known to lie, Still kept with our affair, Still in bed at Shanghai. The odor of the tea That blended you...Read more