Archive for October, 2008

Second Movement

In love the

                        Leaping

Flowers spring

                        About

Our

Feet                and

                        We

Pull

Them

Into

Us.

 

The trees that

                        The

Slow wind

                        Bends

And

Bends             again

                        We

Pull

Into

Us

 

And

 

Cusped in cupped

                        Hands,

Is the sound

                        Still

Air

Moving          wings

                        And

Creating

Nests

In

Us.

 

It

 

Couples against our

                        Mouths

And lips this

                        Wind

That

Is                     unfolding

                        And

Folding

Birds

In

Us

 

And

 

We pull the

                        Flowers

Into

Us

 

And

 

We pull the

                        Trees

Into

Us

 

And

 

We pull the

                        Birds

Into

Our

Mouths

 

And

Kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       

 

The Immortality of Animals and Human Dust

 

1

Above us          the choking gray

Sky      looms.

Tonight            

            In bed

            With you

 

            I would             crush

            The velvet

            Star over          us

                        With     lush

                                    Kisses,

                                                Wet

                                                            As womb

 

                                                And      trees,

                                                            Each limb         green

                                                            As it

                                                            Touches           us-

 

                                                                                    Green

                                                                                                As it    

                                                                                                Bends

                                                                                                To drunken      

                                                                                    Leaves.

 

2

I love                the feeling of

Black   mahogany

Breaking

            Sound, but

            Making love

 

            Enormous         branches

            Moving in

            Wind

                        Creak   in

                                                Bed

 

                                                Waiting

                                                            To once

                                                            Grow leaves     again

                                                            Recrossing        each

                                                                                    Other

                                                                                                And other

                                                                                                Destroying

                                                                                                Each other        or

                                                                                                                        Over taking

                                                                                                                        Others

                                                                                                            Without sound.

 

 

3

I can                 see myself in

Front    of a

Mirror

            Waiting

            For a wrinkle

            To appear,

 

            A hair               to turn gray

            And fall

                        Out.

 

                                    The possibility

                                                            Of youth

                                                            Is a

                                                            Wafer              

                                                                        On my

                                                                        Tongue.           Her

 

                                                                                                Before

                                                                                                Me

                                                                                                Wandering.

 

                                                                                                Anyway,

 

                                                                                                It is there-

                                                                                                Standing

                                                                                    Between her legs

 

                                                                                    Until

                                                            My tears are rain,

                                                                                    Until

                                    My breath is wind,

                                                                                    Until

I am dirt again.