His eyes are knives.
Who froze the ground to his feet?
Who locked his mouth into an horizon?
Why does the sun set when we touch?
I look for the lines between the silences.
He looks only for the silences.
Cram this page under his tongue.
Open him as if for surgery.
Let the red knife love slide in
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Letting the mind go,
the movement of images in & outof the mouthgo calm, go rhythmicas the rise & fall of waves,as one sits in the lotus positionover the world,holding the pen so lightlythat it scarcely stains the page,holding the breathin the glowing cage of the ribs,until the heartis only a living lanternfueled by breath,& the pen writeswhat the…
People who live by the sea
They copy the curves of the waves,their hearts beat with the tides,& the saltiness of their bloodcorresponds with the sea.They know that the house of fleshis only a sandcastlebuilt on the shore,that skin breaksunder the waveslike sand under the solesof the first walker on the beachwhen the tide recedes.Each of us walks there once,watching the…
Not wanting to write
the passion for the page,the love of carbon ribbons & erasers-will distract me from your face,from your eyes greenas the flickering base of flames,& your tarnished copper hair.My love is thick as rust& just as hard to scrape off.It glows like the green roofs of paris:it shines in the sun like dropped pennies.I fix on…
You can be hurt
because in your face it says:love me, nurture me;because in your teeth it says:sugar flows to us;because in your tongue it says:drive in the spike.You can be hurtbecause you care too muchbecause your ribs swing out like shutters& your heartglows like a night light.You can be hurtbecause you need too muchbecause your skin comes off…
You gave me a rose
I told myselfif it bloomedour love would bloom,& if it died-O I did notconsiderthe possibility.It died.Though I cutthe stemon a slantas my mothertaught me,though I droppedan aspirinin the water,it hung its headlike a spent cock& died.It standson my desk now-straight green stalk,blood-red clotof buddroopinglike a hanged man’shead.Does this meanwe are doomed?Does this meanall loversare doomed?O…
Living in a house
without any clocks,she’s begunto listen to the walls.Her neighbors have clocks,not onebut twenty clocks apiece.Sometimesa claque of clocksapplaudsthe passing of each day.Listen to the walls& wind your watch.Poor love, poor love,have they caught youby the pendulum?Do they think they’vegot you stopped?Have youalready gathered how,living near the Black Forest,she gets byon cups of borrowed time?