portrait of woman as a figure of light

semaphore arms
signalling the micro
wave bursts inside
her excite-
ment, her lit joy
fired by fasci-
nation and sublime
sublimated
desire

Two: Wave goodbye

 A man drives his car

He bends forward over the wheel, peering into the storm of night. He strains to see through the steady chop of wipers almost keeping up with the drenching rain. The sound of them bothers him, too remorseless

He rubs his broken nose, wiping fresh blood

Three million, three fucking million, we shouldda asked double that

He checks the GPS, four more fuckin miles
then reaches blindly for the radio, punches it on, flips through stations, hearing only the ghostly bow scraping words from a broken cello

- envy the - *crackle*
- the dead - *crackle*
- dead their - *crackle*
- their swift - *crackle*
- swift passing - *crackle*
- passing for - *crackle*
- for centuries - *crackle*
-centuries you'll - *crackle*

He snarls and punches the radio, hard, and it shuts up. He rubs his nose again. 

He doesn't smell the flood of seaweed.
He doesn't hear the slow rend of iron from the trunk
He hears only the roar of surf, to his left, behind him

He doesn't feel the tentacle uncoil from behind his seat, til it passes up and wraps around his left wrist, jerking hard. 
He feels the crash of the car into deep water

He starts screaming.
He doesn't stop.
He'll never stop.

wip

 Something happened inside me. 

A huge and uncontrollable wave
swept through me 
and crashed on the shore that was my heart.

Note for next:
One: Our Lady of the Tentacles
Two: The queen of air and darkness

Pollen

 Stab my eyes
with your bright, bright leaves
let the tears
wash away memory
with the yawning

que de souvenirs, que de regrets

 the wings
of birds
crack the sky,
and it bleeds
empty tears

dashing the
lonely asphalt
with next years
regrets

next years
fears

where are
the rains
of yesterday
in the desert
of my heart?