Cut open the dog head. Cup the pale green
brain. Its head is an avocado.
Take out its stone then the fork from your pocket.
Drag it over the muzzle. The blood runs out in ribbons
into the hair. Its dog-ribbon hair.
The dog-egg in the pan boils, barks through red
and endless dark, bubbles stars into light,
lies down inside my bitten ankles, ballerina tutus,
they dance away from me. Our sheets hang like lungs
on the washing line. Capillaries shoot blue, bark green
Dobermans through the streets
of Santiago. the size of small horses,
liquid lime, they run as zaps, snapping
the swinging tassels on my bag.
© Liz Adams
After seeing 'Cells’by Louise Bourgeois
1.
The day shrugs off its clothes
through tea stained light.
spinning dreams that pounce
with eight black legs - like the wax
red cock or teardrop
that hangs above the bed,
or the blood carriage in the jam-jar –
winking raspberries carried by
a slab of moon-rock shatters the
glass bubbles curved like the arc
of this yellow city sky.
2.
Angels fall then pull on suits
teal flecked wings vibrate
wheels of black
through grey, pass
sweet peanuts - eaten
with fistfuls of love –
given to the unhappy
& happy alike.
3.
The sun becomes a saxophone
reflecting the water's ghosts
lining the bridge with
silver lips blush forget-me-not blue
wraps shoulders till halos
become stilettos
that bob and dissolve like sand
saxophones bashed until
gold becomes water running
through strips of pipe.
4.
Beyond, tomorrow raises its head
like a swimmer - the river
cracked through with light,
splinters off ahead.
© Liz Adams
River river the river the river is flooding the river this window river river grey lungs shot
neon capillaries open and close gold laughter rose rush sea glass skin smash it with a stone
easy
swim body waves gurgle house away from the
music leaves green darkness
long wine legs tangled and ashy at the ankles
thunders underground, red, photos of bulls,
blushing prawns and squid black dots fly
dance this dance by
some bright tin houses in Buenos Aires
good air! good air!
the river the river there
drinks seething flies and broken bottled hearts bobbing broken glass heave the river the river
isrushing hoops through good air and from there claw back the jungle to llama autumn,
build, this falling down - top-hats, ponchos, march of knee-high leather
blue, pink, black, beneath indifferent hibiscus blossom,
smash them with this heel, make them feel.
Take the photo, square,
nothing outside the edges to care about.
© Liz Adams