Monday, January 26, 2015

1.26.15



Grotesque

i lie naked in foliage wearing a Halloween
mask. enchanted by the orange hammock
moon, thin as if Atlas drew it with a sharp pencil,
detail of an escape plan he made while pretending
to work on company-related business. my neck
rests against a lip of cave a lion mouths off in.
he is rattled by the rain.
not me. intermittent driplets feel like kisses.
my throat is thick as stucco. my song stays in.
little leather straps have been worked
into my plaster for good.  i do not absorb rain.
it wont wash my damp leafing. the mask gives me
an undeserved symmetry.

1.26.15



Giant Kelp

you giant kelp, brown algae.
they call you a stonewart. you cannot
even consider land for living on,
no photosynthesis
apparatus 
in yr pockets for surviving
off of sunlight, like he and i did. your cousins,
green & purple entwine the folds of self
awareness. they let themselves out like a pair
of slacks while you bind.  
the moon carves into ice inside one of its
own basins. looks like the same calligraphy
he and i decipher with our feet all
up in your tendrils, eagerly as we sometimes
indulge a vice. we are animals, we come
together, while your very existence
suggests plant life
has been around nearly a half-billion
years in a great divide.

1.26.15




Romanus

Your designer made you gargoyle.
Gave you a spout to convey water.
Your open mouth slows the progress of erosion,
rainwater. The length of your body determines
the fall of the water my hair is tangled up with,
in this whirled ceiling fan, perfect sundress
weather, for hiding my iron gullet in. 
I implore you to feel this as I do, under the
carved out church, gentling, and warm, and
besides ourselves, shoulder to shoulder.

Warmth as if from a dragon breathing
somewhere nearby hits us. His breath allows
one prisoner free, in accord with
the annual street procession of St. Romain.