dipperwell White play-dough houses
Falling over themselves limply,
Round fat legs and no ears.
They hunch inwards and breathe,
Whooshing noises that wake us
as flour-coated walls expand.
I say honey, honey, get up.
But you are consumed and covered.
Leaving our bed, the sun slides in
Cuddling rosily with the curves.
You sleep under the dough.

The house is filling up
Cracking on the outside
wincing when the light enters
raw, pink caverns breaking shoulders.
It is rolled into a stumpy ball
with you inside its insides and
sits like a petulant child
Although I know it feels no one.

I look around the morning,
outside it is green and vast
And pleasingly empty.
There is me, and a ball of bread,
and the horizon slouching over
curling into itself.
dipperwell The avocado slides through my gums
Like an otter
Presses into a tooth,
Spreads on my tongue,
Glues to the palate.
The bread follows insistently.
Skinny folds of lettuce
jealously stomp around
wishing someone would chase after them.
The mayonnaise ignores.
Water floods the room,
quells the conversation,
sends them to a sudden death,
Only corpses remain.
Inert, motionless,
knocking on occasion against the teeth
with the idiocy of puppets
as the ocean
storms in.
Down in the pharynx,
Seagulls faintly cry.
z this page is beautiful. 060313
dipperwell I caught something luminous the other day
In a shaded alley with grape vines coughing up lattice and purple berries
Newspaper boys flickered past
Doors swung open with mountain goat moans
Clattering shut like old jail keys, you and me
Softness and pleasure and pale grasses
Ground up below the cobblestones and
Found its way into my hand while I searched
impatiently for the sex my whole life was lacking (and the yeast of my heart, make it grow)
A little piece of luminous, I wouldn't have recognized
but it lumesced.
And strange swooping things whirled in and snatched it, glancing at me imperiously with haughty distant faces
I sat there, leaning against a metal bicycle,
Peddlers tottering by and children stealing the fat tomatoes,
Torn notes from higher chords assaulting
The shrill, wonderful, wild daylight
and I in the corner pocket
having caught something luminous only
to change the angle
and watch it dim.
dipperwell she
on a tragicbeautiful
planet inhabited by hand-holding
flowers and amethyst coffee mugs.
She laughs and the sea rolls
into a cube, the stars nudge eachother
slyly, and office carpets blush in sunset colours.
z yes 060313
dipperwell Jealous and foolish
like violins wailing,
She hid herself under the stairwell
her face buried in petticoats,
tears sliding through a white eyelet
like clear lima beans slipping out of starched cotton fingertips.
The piano played a romping happy thing-
She smacked her fists hard together
like coconuts.
Dug talons into her shoulderblades,
this did.
In a second she knew she would die,
from the sharpness of her,
from the pretty people in the other room,
from the desperation for something she didn't think she wanted.
They were drinking lots of red wine,
spilling it on the piano,
singing high thrilling opera notes,
puffing away on long cigarettes.
Dressed elegantly,
making witty, thoughtful banter,
being the gorgeous arts.
One could do nothing but adore them
she felt violated, raped
and the ache, ache, ache
of his presence
dipperwell The narrow schoolboy was standing on his desk, waving a stick at the teacher.
The other children did not speak.
He was gaunt and muscled.
The teacher stared out of one eye,
gaping expressionless,
smeared all over with red sticky goo,
impaled in the bottom,
a big raw grin carved out of the apple
by the ants.
Sat in the chair wetly.
The floor was a candied puddle.
His grandmother smiled at him with supreme benefaction.
"The skin on that one peeled in the oven," she said. "But it baked jest fine, it'll taste all right."
He chose a different one.
It was simply too grotesque, opened up and bright white,
a wide-eyed, stupid smile.
He saw the apple fall over and learned
some fates are worse than death,
but determined not by experiencing them,
but by grieving someone
someone alive.
A big idiotic apple,
panting and smiling and blank.
Or never there at all, every bit as bad.
Just a hole in the melted candy,
a round empty feeling
Where someone had disappeared
without the licking of lips,
the running over the chin,
not even a napkin of proof.
Just a slow death on a sidewalk,
unnoticed by anyone
but the colonies.
z yes. 060314
dipperwell The fog presses into my skin
smothering each baby cell
with breathy attention
things are caught in stillness
like old decomposed leaves
sleeping with unbearable quiet
under the deep puddles
They do not stir.
Like photographs of movement,
frantically motionless.
Strange things happen in fog,
thorns grow out of the trees
houses lose attics in the clouds
people blur in and out
exposed negatives.
But in slow gradient.
Every defining line
being whispered.
Sour sugar in my mouth,
rubs my tongue raw and reminds me
that I cannot fade.
Things appear when one is alone,
foggy ideas suddenly.
Ghostly apparitions asking
very soft questions like:
Is what you want
What you want
Or is what you want
What you want
To want?
Little dreamy circles,
being etched in the air
and disappearing just as soon as they are made
like breathing hotly on a mirror
just long enough to trace your name
or someone else's
Ephemeral, if it disappears
it still lies underneath.
Decomposing leaves
Or a girl in the fog-
An untouched drop of water
winds away into the sun.
z i like these very much. 060316
dipperwell Nowdear.
Raised an eyebrow.
Do you honestly think-
He looked off idly,
The window blinds were swinging
Like wet fettucine dangling
from the fingers of a pasta scoop
He tasted flesh.
Warm testicles floating gently by,
cupped in the cavern under his chin.
Stomach growls.
Her ballerina foot tapped the parquet.
He suddenly felt quite distinctly like the inside of a bowl.
Between each tap a flood of thoughts ebbed and brimmed over and filled up again:
How funny the sound of curettes against the uterine walls
How strange the speculum that widened her eyes in disbelief
How smooth the indoor tin.
Everything seemed mottled white.
She sighed like a bitch,
He realized that he hated her,
rose abruptly and turned the dangling bar;
closed the blinds.
He could see the slick, sweat-darkened skin gleaming from under the sterile sheets.
Solemn eyes boring in his as mouth fumbled its way around, sucked.
Both eyes close,
they have made sure to lock the door
hide the light in the windows,
GodIloveyou urgent cries and pleas.
An emptied bowl clattering onto the parquet:
dipperwell Gentler than thou
and that I am afraid
Pink city shadows
and white lemonade
Small bridges and door keys
Old nylons on sore knees
reflected in beech trees
that grow in the glade.

Unrepentant I lost you
my frailty consumed you
bored into and moved you
it stubbornly threw you
The days when I had you
the bed that we made.

For windows unopened
and bath soap unsoftened
for you, so repentant
and I, in contempt
for beauty diminished
in mouldy old fountains
for the dreams I unspooled
and the threads I undreamt -
dipperwell The audience rose up
and scattered off
like pool balls dropping
into corner pockets
lit with red exit signs
only he remained
young, wild-eyed, chest heaving
the thrill of the night
burning through him.

He could not fathom;
frothy lips of the actors
wiped off on lemon towels
prop girls giggling
having breasts rubbed by crew boys
with penny-cleaning thumb circles
or the ticket stubs in the wind.

It mattered not.

He stared at the abandoned stage
before his eyes the grand piano
black, gleaming, sleek, curvaceous
turned with silent oily grace
and gazed at him, expressionless,
like a regal bull.

The piano stool with claw feet
little and curly and knobbed
stuffed with a faded mint green cushion
the golden threads worn into cotton
perked up and ran around its mother's legs,
obnoxious and eager and cute.

The empty music stand twisted an impossibly long neck,
leapt down from the stage
bounded up to him
and slashed his eyes out
like a flat butcher's knife.

He opened them, breathed deeply
the piano motionless
the stool absent of impudence
the stand made no sign.

He felt an ox with white teeth smile,
he had the finale within him
curtains could not stop the brimming tide
that brewed.
marked . 060322
dipperwell little things are blowing around
and I am smiling in the tamarind wind
pale blue taffeta hung up everywhere
and pigs rooting for truffles in the dirt.
it gives great cool breaths in my ears,
in out in out faster and stronger,
and without a doubt I know I'm flying
careening bouncily over groceries below
and upwards, on unknown vectors, twistily.
freedom, white flags announcing victory,
I blow through the laundry on the line
not an aspiration in sight but trying out,
experimenting with that hand or this leg,
and nowhere to go but sideways.
Hindemith yep, definitely have a crush on dipperwell. 060418
dipperwell Right now,

he cautiously opened things and closed them
confident, focused
jotting things down
charmed with the idea of it.
the experiment wilted, like so many others.
he put the test tubes and beakers in a cardboard box, sighed, and looked around.
but nevertheless, with the grace of someone who had failed at something remarkable.
unsuccessful, he thought, but not insignificant.
that was when the smart black shoes clapped down the hallway,
and a gaggle of his colleagues passed the darkened room.
"Wasn't he--"
They were chuckling.
Making a mess with all those ridiculous little papers...
Reinventing the wheel, chasing his tail.
Nevermind the failing, he had taken on something downright trivial; benign.
A side dish that never made it onto the menu.

I wish I had never fucking met you.
forn no tin of condensed milk will make this okay, not that I've asked yet.
nor loaves of bread from that place, heads poking into the shower or just tell me what to do and I'll do it.
I'm just as lost, lying here in the steam as this thing rains down on me, probably picking up the bleach you cleaned the drain with, if that's what it was, but nothing burns, so. So.
impossible to explain, this yearning to be fresh muslin spring, corduroy autumn or wet wool winter; anything but this tear-stained summer lying defeated in the tub, slip-sliding back in, under this hot spray more noisy than wet where sadness goes to die.
or rejoin the colony.
or bleach itself bone-dry.
o, honey this showerhead does the crying for me.
forn this water we can't see
small licks and hisses
on the cheeks of the pier

ink plumes of night, scattered with little white teeth
like kitten fangs

you and I, tentative-shoed
straining our eyes into the
yawning throat of this dark lake

guarded by own own good etiquette
we preserve chatter like canned peaches
but its giant mouth says hush

this is nice, I interrupt
and softly you concur.

just a little foam
to lick off each other's lips.
what's it to you?
who go