love letter, no number.

 

 

 

As dearly as I love letters, I truly love

the ministrant ones that form the blemish

of the face; the ones adjacent to the window

you pass unexpectedly over the buttons

of the white blouse.

How lovely the view of Canada, but im'e

embarrased by this murder capital angina.

Impermanent, ghetto letters, the ones

adjective filled of supposititious imagine.

This twisting force miracle, it's me,

held down by topaz or the brownish-yellow

markings of the makebelieve tiger,

you made with the placenta of the hand

puppets.Death is so more relaxing than

being drunk off the mineral mash, topsoil wine

we drank like honey together.

It's just me being vincible.

And me making love to the futon

imagining the unfolded sheets, your feet

dangling the universe.Dead is that irrestable leash,

that macula spot on the ageing back;

The Chicagoan said he hated Detroit, is

all I shall remember.

 

Perhaps it was the vapor state that lovemaking takes,

suspensive like the highest book, an arm length away.

We locked poises in the warm empire

like the cartoons of the grapes you wore as

ceremonial robes of the vine blossom.

You remember the rose fish that swallowed

the vintager in the open throat of the silly folklore.

I don''t mind your brother eating with us

but I wish he would knock before entering our

room of the house with the swept yard

and the white birches with their ash colored bark

standing the Wolf's Lair century as drudgery suggests

dull and irksome.

And the lovely blessing of your remaining parent;

is there any other blessing they can offer us

other than the sticky tree oil consecration?  And

they say, poet you should poeticize this world;

half depravity, half villainous,

part angelic song.

Reviews

[sienikeha]

favorited. you are so clearly one of the most distinguished, amazing writers ever.

[Emily B]

going to him! happy letter!
tell him i only said the syntax
and left the verb and the pronoun out
tell him just how the fingers hurried
then how they waded slow! slow!

you are a remarkable poet! I can only imagine the love letters that fall from your elegant fingers