1.23.15

Glassine

I am a shucked oyster, proof the desert
once was undersea. You are the Cyprus
invasive, sucking in one hundred times
your weight in shallow river water my
salt floated in. You led me on I literally 

climbed mountains for you it was a bluff,
a cave lip, a canyon ridge swamp marsh
gulf and finally, every inch of green sky
covered the bowl of ocean.

That sea we slept beside grew darker than
bruise. Milk thistle pods we prayed within
soon claustrophobic as clouds grumbling
over one another swept beside by
brut winds and abused. 

Our basest understanding thunderous
plods of earth left to dry like indigenous
longhorn spinal bones bleached by dry
unmerciful heat.

1.23.15

No Tent for It

I am so jealous of the callous world you now share
yourself with, as you shared it with me.

I was not so callous.

Perhaps had I been, or could ever be,
you might would still be my country gallant?
Palms my hands filled with the feathers let by
the falcon you encountered the day
I stayed in the car, sick with disease.

Why am I so diseased?

Some who love me much have told me
it is my beauty. Disables some men, and me,
not you, apparently. Or maybe I did disable you,
somehow twisting your limbs round the wrong
way, like you became in my charge the contortionist
in a picaresque circus. I was ribald, maybe, failed
miserably in my role as ringmaster.