Psalm # 28
will repeat these lines over and over until
they make some semblance of a face. I will be heard,
the one lasting remnant of me-you-we
is nothing. But I have named it, so we are safe,
are safe. All is at peace and the saviors
scream so Christ is rising and
I take my chances, light another
for his memory. I inhale his body
and feel so alive, today is cracking
like a golden egg. For only a while
in the light I stand once again and no one
can notice the absence of sunrise.
In the glass of a window
there are etched words. I write to my past
until it becomes the air.
Each morning this week alone, I burn
the light out, the sky is so bright that way.
Now the fire has begun to burn down
gently burning sounds like laundry in the wind
but the sound is white, pure white, the blindness
which scalds when set
Call me as the lonely keening cock
calls the evening,
call me the space between two merging bodies.
a second skin
around my ankles
falls softly you've lost the
meaning of the curves and lines whisper
your mind is on a ride
I will drag an intensely personal narrative
into the world and strip myself rare and raw
I wanted your truth to be my truth your truth
wasting the precious night-time hours
repeating these lines over and over until
they made some semblance of a face.
So don't give me those
And don't accept
mine but find wet laundry
The cock is crowing, it
is keening, the cock keens
is not a words, not.
Make for me a bow of cracked light and
I give you my word that
which I can
hold between two thumbs.
I want to shoot like some
the impotent keening cock,
no less) or words.
What to do
when I begin to
fill up? I feel
in my belly the
happy fire of being.
As I contemplate the
contemplative rhythms of
fingers tracing lines
up my back the
skin turns pink then back to
Fire to tongue, tongue to fire
but have traced me, are
still warm, the undersides of my
breasts still warm.
Long pages of eloquence on
the subject of bodies merging.
It is nothingness that I
take and give to you, love
some answers, some sphinx on
the other side of me or
waves of pages. Each morning
this week alone, I burn
the light out, the sky
is so bright that way. What is there
for me to see or say?
I can open my mouth as far as it can go
and nothing will come out because this is a vision.
And people will offer me words, and that is my
Potentially, might be ...