Cento from Brandi Homan 3/9/09 & 3/16/09 (in hospital & out)

Like when a friend of a friend was drunk
for me. A man who smells like

blossoms bleached
purrs with the dyskinesia of atoms. Telepathy
of bleeding fingers. Feet firmly on the ground.

I'm looking for love
with exotic postmarks,

coated with afterglow until I glisten
scarlet. Your pink wig
above us. Someday,

they'll cut off your hands
in a bright red dress.

We all should be so tended
we all turn to pumpkins at midnight.
Sometimes I wear stockings

red as rising heat,
although I promised otherwise.

My grudges, tiny bludgeons
coated in dust -- life beating us
for giving until nothing remains.

Cento from Brandi Homan

Not once have I thought I could be saved
alone -- one who comes out
in the red dress dancing on her own
behind the bucking chute

and says hush-hush-hush.
Like ointment, you're slippery
on my tongue, magic to molecules.
Get your truck & a gun

& loving you is like living.
Load & thrust to reduce
mercury, beautiful poison. I want
& already the world --

whose name is quicksilver --
sinkholes. I became acolyte.
Roots, they evangelize for distortion, squeeze
your honeysuckle girl.

In my mouth, a man
on a sad night. Drink & let my hand
only lead. Always
your two bodies revolve

for the world to wonder at.
Waving cigarette circles in the air
for the late crowd, nothing
& tendon. Everything.