"I am in love with poetry. Every way I turn
this, my weakness, smites me. A glass
of chocolate milk, head of lettuce, dark-
ness of clouds at one o'clock obsess me.
I weep for all of these or laugh."
Ted Berrigan, "Words for Love"

i would rather share secrets than be one

"No one worth possessing
Can quite be possessed"
-Sara Teasdale

Discord

Past false messiahs silently minded
our brief visit of finding breath, life spinning, glorified:
Calypso.
They urged us to be reticent bounded smile shining
assuming the finding-- the waiting Penelopes.

But just simply to see! Unblinded by words,
unravel confined beauty of flowers,
not just smells, hidden secrets-- the patterns.

See Calypso's gift, just your whistle changes tides,
now breasts are not for hiding.

What is more lady-like than Arachne
and her web of divinest strings,
established in her 8-eyed grin,
with just the quality of knowing all
too well of female sin.

a dog that never plays

I have committed the deadliest sin,
to look at words writ (trapped) in voids between
margins of love sick
and sad; the Page.

lay with you

lie with you

writing, writing and it didn't make sense.

I feel

that is what I feel

how beautiful that is just

to feel and not complicate

with self evoking, redundant chords

to just swing on the quiet strings of its simplicity.

plates shift now foreign

From the corner of eyes,
too poised
You look
Not even seeking, and still pressed together.
As if flowers in mother's firm books.

I fear finding one of rumor of your quiet Bloom
would make me collapse,
and anyway
where should my head fall after crafting those
digging thorn
levees on your lap?

Watch My Dawn rise carefully, upon warm hairs
of the crown's childish head,
as if knowing, then suddenly quite carelessly showing.. and showing
and showing.
and showing
How our light splendidly crept from the curtains,
quite clear off to bed,
and up to the wall.
How can it be told you did not feel it at all?

Our separate ice boxes may fit us well, for I am not afraid
to be alone, to be fed alone.
Learned to pave this path of my own silken tread.
Now you slump our shoulders
just to say it is better,
now we can make ourselves
happy (as nothing),
and you think it works.

See I thought there was no more of you that I could miss,

for now it seems all I possess remains stale memorythat aches of your caress.

Maybe now I slouch almost thankfully divided.

Should I set hearts a sail and say you're the one that has lost,

or try to piece it together to show what you forgot?

Today I will write a Poem and not an Elegy.

Love's Rumor (to Augustin)

So easy it appears to be the blind man you assume,
the hiding prophet.
(so craved does your heart appear to show)
I will try to teach you this fragrance we coin, the status we resume.
Melded, we unthread the fabric of The Way Things Were
with you and a handful of past lovers—
all of their wailing, piercing murmurs. With me and you
We
redefine past thoughts of love’s rumor:
this everchanging raw patch,

lined with melted smiles,
entwined is our skin in this silk framework-
..If only you would let yourself be enamored.