Moss Pills Snorted & other poems
By Purdey Lord Kreiden.
MOSS PILLS SNORTED
Moss pills snorted
In the aquatic light of leaves
My wasted semen,
And my remains petrified
Salve hiss grey-green in grass
And shadows alike.
6AM they awoke no
Found their way out to one another’s
Cedar canals and panting pushed the blankets
To the far end
Pushed to the far end of the bed
The thin frost of aloe
In which their arms were.
They sensed the TV was on, no audio but
The taste of skin-tone film on a lake
With human limbs.
Tunes on the radio peak like burning bird seeds,
Took a hit of something
Spilled on the sky
A dumb cloud almost reaches
Where it is supposed to be.
I lay in spheres my rose juices
Sucking like openhearted oysters
Nature’s thought of small fruitlike feet darkening
The childishly deformed
They lived and die in this mocking morning’s light.
They for the first time tasting their hallucination
As the animal precedes its desireless union
With the boy preteen
A nubian all clothed in dream.
Immortally cool teal
Foam of a neon musk cums
Manuscript of the dead-green beach
Where the kids come to talk in slow voices and unzip
Their pants and trembling on their bellies like navy roots
Their cocks float in black blue rain
With the water high as their hips
Feet wet touching
The other’s wet feet
After they’ve stripped to their underwears
And’ve run behind the others to where the water is
They pull down their boxers and bath in bands,
Lolling head against head against
Hand in pants, legs grazing the sand
And swimming ashore
With only their shirts on.
A drug bottle is brought to the table, this
Syrup, (silence, or somebody’s stroking the thin ankle skin) this
Dissolved from the music of roofs their owls round and colorless their
Crescents of dust purple and red-orange.
Gnawing rats, in my basement, and other animals, without haste.
Animal dreams also.
I am the overseer of all dreams
It was a dream or not
And the last image was an eagle eating people in a cathedral.
Once I drank all day facing the wall on my side of the bed.
I stuck my tongue out of my mouth then back in and tasted it
I touched my love touch to my nipple, than to mouth, than near my ear
And put my face closer to the wall
I was facing.
And a piece of ugly sun hid my face from me
I faced a piece of ugly sun and my face on the wall
It was of extraordinary color, my wall.
Like the snow filling my blood moves me
Like sniffing poppers when it’s cold outside and time pastel
Stars passed through the hills like golden serpents unfurling,
The dark green hills shrouded in the silhouettes of still darker hills
One night I sobered by the sea.
I thought I was on my knees
I thought they were wild flowers
FIRE DOESNT HAVE A SOUND
Fire doesn’t have a sound or chime;
we can only hear it sing to the trees, when to the trees
his drunkeness he sings.
Sitting under a tree with your cock in my mouth while you’re taking a nap,
I’m going out tonight, I have fevers and I thirst
youth Light cities of earth and clay, an earthquake
or the blow of a palm could so easily
sweep them away.
Dreaming awake we laughed, I opened a beer bottle, we drank it half.
I travel to the universe and know my place, between the verdant wind that waves off my face and the mother-of-pearl spines of my animals, rising high to the sky, to the top of the branches of the highest pines.
Pierced with lavender palms and whitening in shame
of the cold winter
Traveling together in a segment of wet soil the pine trees
and the cedars
congressed their roots in the dark, like a tongue eager to wrap
soon around the silhouette of a cock expanding
under underpants more and
more as the tongue shortens the distance
and the cock itself, getting fat,
with night lights.
I jerk off threads of water,
prick with my prick apples and the skin of unripe coconuts.
yo! finally someone from the Phils! you str8 dude? how long have you been jacking dude? ever consider being jacked by another str8 guy?
He meant he was meaningless, and so was his dead body.
And he belonged not to him or God but to the slope he’d seen carved in the sea.
Mountains moved away in retreat, and sometimes cliffs followed them.
Grasses like a wave on the surface of a soda-can
a drug like waves of grass
in a pitiful way, like going home
after the rubbing
your face against damp stones
in a sealed light.
I laid in the lawn on my back with my legs up straight against the ring of skyshaped elms
Beer roses flattened on the wall to make a semblance of silence
I hallucinated you kissed all over my face and drowned me and stripped
Me afterward so I could laugh with you and be rebirth at the same time in the same
Place between my holding your cock in my mouth and your eyes echoing against the neon white trees
A song that was my enfolding in palm-leafed lands into an amoebal star
I hold you because you asked me to sober you and I sober too and we laugh
And cryptic ferns in a procession towards the sphinx’s scrotum of lilac
Motionless then it bent over canopies in which unbeknownst to me
I rested my head on my lap like after a long swim and thoughtfully
gluing lips of my children into
Stalagmites of leaves.
But other colors then this lime red ink
THE FIG IS A TOTEM FRUIT
The fig is a totem fruit.
Everytime I open my eyes I think it’s bright morning, clear as cream.
A drug that brings you to the age of the clouds, to the edges of the sea.
To the ages of clouds and seas, when the sea was made and the clouds his twin brothers
Evaporated. A button on your skin that activates a wild forest, with animals
Jumping around, and tree-tops so bright they almost merge
With the sunlight. Tasting biscuits and milk in my mouth because of the picture
of an erection I found
I saw a fish and a leaf copulate.
The leaf descended down from the sky through light
into the water through vapor like a ghost plasma
To rest gently on the fish who accepted
the resting weight of the leaf
Upon his back.
I saw the leaf flutter
in a substance of stream
Before reaching the fish’s back
where it deposited itself and melded
With the flesh of the fish
into light and I watched
The leaf and the fish copulate in my drugged head
like a phantasma.
A titian heart
sinking in the Nile
When you come back I’ll pour you something to drink like the history teacher offering a beer to her Damjan-looking husband in that documentary about russian people we’ve watched.
Amaranth like a drop of whisky on the computer screen fades to voices of children singing,
Drugs are good for us they make us wise.
Let them all come to me, the beautiful and ugly,
With blood up to the cocks, ketamine swept off all the lips
And the roots and leaves from all the soils,
And all the trees, those roots and leaves wrestling
Between my bones and my skin, the skin
Around my bones, and my bones
Clothed in skin
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Purdey Lord Kreiden is a debated area of the human vagina. Her book CHILDREN OF THE BAD HOUR is forthcoming by Ugly Duckling Press in September 2014.
First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, August 17th, 2014.