You are a brave woman, not afraid of me
I peel back your pink flesh as I thrust into You 
and You slap me with bitterly given forgiveness 
drink from the warm dark of your dying 
a green shoot curling into white I am folded 
into You and I thrill at the tearing though
this hand on the pulse of your breast squeezing slow 
how I hate, which is your dying and
which mine, I am talking of tenderness You never 
support me or some interim between pain and
inflicting pain, the cruelty against myself 
violating You this brute who climbs my back
my hand hard against your cheek I call him
You Woman that blinds my eyes till I
stumble and scrape cut knees, why must You
who rides me and this sharp stone against
I can’t see I am asking for your tenderness
why do You leave me I could kill or
the once touch soft in my memory why do 
You ride You dry and laugh
to thrust knowing a hard awakening
thrill to see the tears start in your sleep 
swollen eyes have hurt me, I am your husband
riding You I am only asking for tenderness.
When Asking For Wings
In the impossible dance to conjure fretful wisdoms
when poverty hangs our eyes for any dime of meaning
on the pavement, trust your feet
though You look down on them, the lowest know sometimes
more for being low, go more sure
for having nowhere but the grave to go
trust what knows the ground and cannot leap
but what it must return to earth
it’s a small step from slugs thrown from the sea
to Icarus. Expect to walk on water
and if they amputate your legs and cut your stature
trust to feel in those cold hours
your stranger feet walking the moon.