tr.v. de·nud·ed, de·nud·ing, de·nudes
To divest of covering; make bare.
2. Geology To expose (rock strata) by erosion.
Armés D’Une Ardente Patience (Piano In The Alps)
Infatuation based on a pink tongue.
The broken spine of a loved book.
Recall the sick-sweet stone pang. Our covetous hands.
Against the cool white of borrowed linen.
Finger on a spinning globe. Strength in not knowing.
The trite chill of hot lips against thin flesh,
Such remembered tessellation. A plugged socket.
Two for flinching.
Cognomen (One Hundred & Eighteen Miles)
n. pl. cog·no·mens or cog·nom·i·na (-nm-n)
a. A family name; a surname.
b. The third and usually last name of a citizen of ancient Rome, as Caesar in Gaius Julius Caesar.
2. A name, especially a descriptive nickname or epithet acquired through usage over a period of time.
[Latin cognmen : co-, con-, co- (influenced by cognscere, to know) + nmen, name; see n-men- in Indo-European roots.]
cog·nomi·nal (-nm-nl) adj.
One Hundred & Eighteen Miles
i. Eyes of azure fire, against unrepentant, clear porcelain,
Shone through the simultaneously joyful gadfly of an
Abundance of oestrogen & a cruelly distant union.
c. Let’s share it all, layering more snow & sand & blood
On the snaking crepuscular colonnades that contour
The inside of my feathered, weathered, leathered heart.
xviii. Oh, lodestar, my heliograph, incapable of factiousness,
Guide me wanting to the unbuttoned shirt, the easy glance,
The remembered symmetry of souls & careful courting.
Cuirass (Forgiveness Piñata)
a. A piece of armour for protecting the breast and back.
b. The breastplate alone.
2. A defence or protection: “A carefully primped irony, that cuirass of art in the early Eighties, is necessary a distance so affected as to constitute a hopeless impediment to feeling” (Robert Hughes).
3. Zoology: A protective covering of bony plates or scales.
tr.v. cui·rassed, cui·rass·ing, cui·rass·es
[Middle English curas, from Old French curasse, probably alteration (influenced by Old French cuir, leather) of Old Provençal coirassa, from Late Latin coricea (vestis), leather (garment), feminine of coriceus, from Latin corium.
Forgiveness Piñata (The Dismal Loneliness of Mary Poppins)
Oh, so this is faux misandry, is it?
Or just self-preservation?
An effort to put me off the scent;
That must be the reason.
You’ve always been the capricious kind, not even the kind
To make any sort of meaningful decision. At times like these
The reading matter is wholly unimportant. It’s a press stud
Blocked by a tiny stone.
A masterpiece splashed with gloss.
Bitten lips, tonight; take a number.
I am as limp as the cuff
Of your dog-eared jumper. A clip snapped on your crown,
The unfortunate frayed seam, your twisted shoulder exposed
To the brief gust of a Spring twilight, the clink of jewellery &
Teeth. Uncreased clothing.
Such potential. This is the desperate
Effluvium of past relationships,
The discharge of the forgetful,
The fat neck, the one-eyed peasant, the mercy fuck, the discoloured
Gray of polluted inner-city municipal buildings, the opaque flap
Of translucent skin, neglected, at the root of a dirty thumb.
Effluvium (A Bit Like Science, A Lot Like Art)
n. pl. ef·flu·vi·a (-v-) or ef·flu·vi·ums
A usually invisible emanation or exhalation, as of vapor or gas.
a. A byproduct or residue; waste.
b. The odorous fumes given off by waste or decaying matter.
3. An impalpable emanation; an aura.
[Latin, from effluere, to flow out; see effluent.]
A Bit Like Science, A Lot Like Art
Proud & mighty,
As the mouth of the
We snake gently.
& the funny
I don’t even
Being of a specified position in a numbered series: an ordinal rank of seventh.
2. Of or relating to a taxonomic order.
An ordinal number.
a. A book of instructions for daily services.
b. A book of forms for ordination.
Peppermint & Honey
Your ears aren’t important; nor your capitulation.
The surging, exponential blanket of desire,
Spread over a decade of longing,
For the best way to say,
I don’t love you enough?
The fug of time has made us desperate?
Reality never echoes what we can imagine?
The ends don’t justify the dreams?
Dangerous nocturnal correspondence, the
Thrill of playful knowingness. Tapping gently
Into shared history,
Your changed hair, your
Unwillingness to smile convincingly,
How you insist on counting the length of my
Visits to the dusty throne.
Then nothing. But a void
Of meretricious endeavours.
I swill. I gorge. I break teeth on
The hollow words of others.
& entertain the notion that
All that I can be is all that I am.
I absorb. I excrete. The broken
Uncertainty is delightful.
In daydreams I sweep the hair
From your face. This is important.
Creating solemn Sundays from the
Scraps of adolescent lovelovelovelove.
Equally enamoured & intimidated by