Body Chorus

There are moments when her body calls to me. When her eyes seem to have invitations in them, crawling out of the irises. This then disappears like she has hit a big switch. A body switch somewhere on her body that cuts off the communication. And we seem to tumble back out of reality. A reality forced backwards by her, like a lump in her throat scrambling to the top. Yet there is no hint of desperation in her fingertips. No apparent subtlety. No mistake to it. Only perfect message and a matriarchal familiarity. And I swear sometimes she doesn't know how to look at me. Faggot, eunuch, or brother; they're all the same to me. But I catch her slipping every once in a great while and something escapes her eye. And some wakeless nights I've felt the dense flesh of her tongue in my mouth.

Amuse

Dear goddess allow me,
But for a moment to amuse thee

For when last time we had met
The previous night I had received little sleep
And nearly holding myself up against the wall
You did greet me with a simple hello
(Which took me several minutes to hear)

Alas dear dark-haired grass nymph
Do not train your spheres on me
As I assume you are preparing tuna-fish sandwiches
And ask God in prayer that thou didst for me

I am assaulted with images of your smooth-god associate
Who seems to own your limpet smile
And I, all the while
Leave the room that trails with this gentle sandwich perfume
(And herbal tea but for two)

Wouldst thou, dear goddess, amuse me
And but for a quick moment pretend,
To apply such affections to me

The Dance

We danced the dance of the glitter-stained dress and shiney clean white jumpsuit
And 'twas a shiney glitter stain jumpsuit dance
Involving many intricate smooth stepping steps

And the photos were exceptional
The praises secure
And the arms of my love and her lover were sure

And afterwards there was some incident of bad cologne and cheap breath mints (I guess)
Or windfall angles
(Really I blame it on the poor rotation of some great axis)

Such ended the night of the dancing glitter-stained dress and shiney clean white jumpsuit
Whether you tell it in tales of hot metal crashes or missed cues
Sufficient to know;

The wind plucks the glitter and the night rain unglues the suit
Sending us back to our corners (or rooms)
Brokenlove trapdance ensues

Autumn's Body

Can She hold me responsible?

Would Autumn have me
Fell the trees before Fall breeze
And dress warmly down past the knees?

And She wonders why I huddle with damp photos to the chest
And forget my timepiece

Can She blame me?
Would Autumn be confused, if I didn't wake each morning at all?
Just sat in my trundle, thinking in tangled bundles
Of sandy shorts and tangerine swimsuits?

Autumn promises return
Of what June thieves
But oh, what wiley returns
What cruel reincarnations
Some new insufficient pink faced vision

Once when I was 22, I'm convinced I almost drowned

Once when I was 22, I'm convinced I almost drowned
Or something quite like it
At least I don't remember coming up for air

I remember trying to pull myself in from the tide by her hair
(Which the weathermen remarked
Had been changing)

I do remember suffering at the hands of many suggestions
(And preferred methods of resuscitation)
Anglo-Saxon home remedies while still under sea

I think they even managed a song or two over my still throbbing head
And pipers who applied the holy scriptures
Little naked people with harps they made from cardboard and twine

And now above, shall I wonder why this world tastes of darkest green salt?
The carnival rides all look suspicious
And everyone's face sodium shriveled when I greet them

We left ourselves as gods somewhere back in childhood

We left ourselves as gods somewhere back in childhood

Motherwhitepicketfences
Flawless friends and even more flawless arts
Shedding brownjacket defenses against the weather
The moon never dimmer than the sun
The tides never bigger than our bodies

Listen, a seraphim sweeps up from hell
Carrying fall leaves in wing

A man boasting the business pages at the street corner
Covers his right wrist and twists
A memory from his stomach
It never looked so glossy as it did today
Out of the business pages at the street corner
Tidy, wingless flies on the tongue

The Pennyman and the Cloakmaster

I have not often in life made myself available
Nor made myself scarce

Nor have the morose entanglings in my throat been often chunked up

Perhaps you should be grateful for each of these
But how would I know?
Why would I care?

And therein it is;
The pennyman and cloakmaster
Neither of them disagree