With cheeks of strawberries, hanging gently

she goes amidst the tide of flesh
sparkling in the twilight light
carved by glaciers dry, concrete
she breaths in plumes of city dust
that hang in fumes like silken veils
and weave the mind, like northern lights
with drunken thoughts of fulfilled dreams
Sticky drool from golden fangs
flees from hydrants sick with glee
toward heartbeat drunk on dizzy tempo
goes he of gesture serpentine
“Princess Berry, might you need
a rescue from those tower heels?"
Her tresses, spun on secret looms--
Oh, boy, have you gone blind to kin?

Syrup drawn with porcelain ladle
spills through sudden lightning cracks
Her pupils, guests of lizard tongues
are pilgrims for his pooling wounds

Kontsugi! Medusa! Fruit tart and reddening!
She falls into his arms--
and carried forth as brittle bones
she winks at winking stars


I am Savaje

But I am not not Clara

I long and I long

But for what I don’t know


I emerged from the primordial chaos

Ether of a land that cannot be described

There is something deep in me anxious

Writhing, screaming to escape

And so I speak my patois, wage my insurgency

Longing and longing, for what I do not, cannot know 


In my mind I am nude

Except for my kohl and jewels

That slide over skin celestially-tanned

Sanded by the orange grains of nostalgic dunes

I awoke in the smoke of the dead of Montparnasse

Where at Tzara’s grave I received the eyes of flick’ring hopes

I was baptized by the breadth of animal night

In a burnt sea where the humans knew they were creatures

Now I sleep under the petals and curls of Miami flora

With fata morganas of polyrhythm and fame

And I worship at the chords of burning visions

to reach where I’ve never not always known.


“Nature is the rapid efflux of goodness executing and organizing itself”; the total entropy of a system can never decrease over time. I am the coin upon which these two sides are laid; the point of limitless depths between two fluctuations of these curves. Life is absurd, made of paradoxes and contradictions—balance; I—we—fall into entropy, as a tree trunk, expanding with each year, each fleeting lover, outward and outward, disintegrating toward egalitarian fate, to be remade in the form of those intangible laws that govern this universe. “’A [wo]man,’ said Oliver Cromwell, ‘never rises so high as when [s]he knows not whither [s]he is going.’” Perhaps it is good that the saudade of my name knows not from where it springs, nor to what heights it extends.  


What can I say, but that I see it all, constantly? It cripples me, it enlightens me, it harasses me, it caresses me. I have always felt it, yet the acquisition of knowledge allows me to see it more. I felt it in the prairie, I feel it in the eternal pages of the stacks, but I cannot describe it, for it cannot be described. What can I say, but that I saw it, and others see it in me, and I see it in some others too.

My mother says that when I was a baby I cried out of frustration for the inability to speak.

But speak I can, and cry still I.

Not a cry of tears, but a cry of my art, a cry of these words.

A cry has its own meaning.

My earliest sentiment is of the prairie, a land that I did not live in but felt. It occupied a place in my mind like no other, for there nothing was limited to its substance. When the wind blew through its grasses, I knew it as breadth, of an organism, with a consciousness.

And I had compassion for it, and it had compassion for me.


The world is hostile to what it does not understand.

We fear darkness; divinity is light. We fear chaos; divinity is order.

To have gotten here we must have believed in light and order—

and because we believed it, it came true.

Those eyes of fear pierced me, and so I gave myself this name.

A savage, from the wilderness, that they could not understand—

but to me, the prairie, a unity, an infinity, that yearns for my embrace.


“In the thought of to-morrow there is a power to upheave all thy creed, all the creeds, all the literatures, of the nations, and marshal thee to a heaven which no epic dream has yet depicted.”


Come with me, let me help you understand.

To this order that is chaos, to this chaos that is order.


“Beware when the great God lets loose a thinker on this planet. Then all things are at risk.”


But do not be afraid

I promise you

it is beautiful.




I’ll read til sun reverses track, bleeds Incan tears of gold

I’ll read til moon turns into dusk, like frozen wisps of snow

But fear with scornful smile retires, to laugh it’s villain cry

“Never shall you speak the language, of brain which book was told”





Don’t crave a cigarette to hold

between ur aging hands

Don’t crave a sighing chest to hold

as all is left to burn

Don’t let the drink dance down ur throat

like fires’ licking flames

Hot coals on feet

& dameless squires

will haunt my dreams tonight


We're living in the Old World
Silk Road fantasy, arteries gorged with bit and pop and chain
Naamah, I shall be
With kernels of my Kings of wine and cosmos, my Queens of sand and sea
nestling softly in my locket tissue
Bursting aneurism, brilliant firework
I shall become immortal
Flying away, sweet atom
Drunk on all that was and ever shall be



I once met a little demon

and I begged him speak for his whole kind,
not quite knowing, the game I played
"We give as we give, and then we cease
You become affixed to my arrow
Quivering in the wind"
And nodding I, embraced the arrow even
tighter, sick grip, chill breeze, fantastic ride
pool of glee and lust and tears
While I should have quietly wondered
Why he might start a game, where all he had must leave him


She who plays hide and seek in the denouement
being wrapped with a tartan blanket as the sun retires - "here, dear, let this warm you"
which she accepts quietly, submissively
Hopes to resurface at land of opposites, deepest black
In furs like Venus, diadems of ephemeralities, Nefertiti gaze upon a world of naught
To wreak a vast orgy in raging tensions of the nothingness


she--in a chokehold of electric blue chiffon
skipped down the street, hall of elm arches, cathedral's mockery
martyr to Truth, in hell of matted virtualities
her steps rang like church bells
on a fated inaugural eve
drapes awoken from their sleepy dance with wind
by prune fingers--slaves of enslaved minds
she--in a chokehold of electric blue chiffon
twirling through the eve, like smoke of lover's cig, after the act
let shame unwind, with magnitude
til only head, swung round in beat
was covered by the mystic shade
while she--her legs, her breasts, her arms
pranced round like fawns off Sufi wine
in field aflood with butterflies
she--in a chokehold of electric blue chiffon
she--who let bleed her daydreams
she--who could not stand it anymore
she--who knew they were too afraid to let her in
was taken away
to knock on the door of the desert architectures, fine mirages, of the ones who took her
so that someday
they might too




My veil of maja is a magenta burqa
Under which I don Fenty lingerie
Sleep in clouds, cocoons' cocoons
Reap sustenance from islands of dolls and organs

O, How brilliantly I want to laugh!
Horse teeth like Eleanor, flayed round like Bacon's parallax
And then, with an army of Yue pink men,
appetite provoked by petite chalices of evergreen gook
Dine on fat trays of Hal-i-but
Scorched in buried heaps of sand, seduced by spices hid from man
We'll writhe in pure hysteria
run naked through the streets
Peeling down rinds and curtains that were whistling in the breeze, carving sad gateways to nowhere, pathetic omens
Ripping away smartphones, rabid motions, munching electronic flesh
Rioting, fleeing toward a sunset dressed by Frederic Edwin
We'll arrive, and stepping out into the dawn light
with mad twinkles in our eyes
shake each other's hands, and mouth