Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Dream of Gardens


Lovers dream of gardens, clutching at each other
in rusting cars, or leave the memory in bottles
of desire’s roots, to blunt the pain in passing pleasure.

We make our bed in the belly of a whale
who beached himself six centuries ago, his bones picked clean.
Rain falls through the gaps in his ribs on our kisses.

And we kick and we thunder and shudder and spark
against each other, water’s skin consuming bones of rock,
till we are spent, till there’s no joy or sorrow left

to talk in body of. We barely breathe. But lying here, I feel,
vague as the rainbow trying to appear in clearing clouds,
some hope as weak and real as flesh form deep inside me.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Storms Happen


Storms happen at the base of our brains,
where hot electric flashes bite through tangled cloud
and strike our spines. I do not fear our anger.
Rage is kind. Rage lifts a clean gun once
and shortens the waiting,

makes a hero of a ghost,
a meal of bones. I would rather die a fish
in the belly of a shark
than a suicidal whale. The simplicity of it—
eat, or be eaten. Fact is the antidote
to being crippled by this deceptive heart.
It is a fact we do not know ourselves.

I know bloodthirst,
I know worship: well-lit wonders,
desire’s labeled poles. What though
is this, that draws and drags and pulls
me over and over to shore, to shore, to shore?
I can almost taste rust in the roof of my mouth.

Sweat


Things sweat here. A cold mug
of water, even, leaving its saturnine rings
on polished wood. Birds
perspire. Heaven gets so heavy

with the effort of staying awake that it
rains, and with the exercise of keeping
its eye closed in dank and nightmarish sleep
that it rains.

You nap in the next room, the next house,
the neighboring nation,
some telescoped place,
neck and thighs as cool as polished stone.

Courtesy


The tediums of daily courtesy, the discipline
of mouthing yesplease, nothanks, Iloveyou by the hour
tempers like light rain on fire the prowling carniverous desire
now curled up in smiling and a warm domestic sun.

Hug me daily, touch me gently
on your way from bed to bathroom, or my broken body
could quickly growl and snap, turning to tear the hands
that feed and feed it and the little heaven
they have crafted in the sand.
And yours would do the same to mine, my dear,

so I will blow you insufficient kisses,
I will bring you sugared snacks in lazy afternoons.
We will brave these days, each shadowed with the threat
of waking desperation, hand in hand.