That previous December,
a little voice was coyly in-treat-ing:
"Take an angry butcher knife to your hair,
and paint it the color of a strawberry,
some dear, saintly soul will finally notice
you have some fire left within you"
Your eyes flickered brightly on the jet-way
the flash of surprise lighted by stop-lights
the roar of your engine ig-night-ed as you
shifted us back and forth. light and dark.
fast and slow. this way and that. swaying.
I would then become like spearmint-
red, and white twisted so tightly that
the colors blurred and clung to each other--
a spiral of some-days, a certainty of now.
For weeks after, I felt coated internally with
a sticky-sweet giggle, that guarded my
heart from the outside darkness,forever?--
it would, however, begin to creep back in
as disapointment
would eventually
unravel the spiral and
roll back to my empty front door.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
No comments:
Post a Comment