lilies of the August vessel.A Poem by h d e rushinMy knee is swolen. I took a Vicadin.
Lilies are so free, stylized, rhythmic music. Hip Hop or hiss, excitable as a cloud of furry lights.
This is a poem of tears, not of the flowers sarcenet or their quilt of seeds. Nothing sings as soft as rain.
Intrusive arm of the field; white as bone, the needle of the sun or moon.
The eyeball of the cave, intrepid. Intrinsic as the jungle cat. Lysis from the millwood fever.
No one can tell us apart. My edges are your edges. My coves, yours. We both adore the relishable sunshine.
Ash, who could tell, was so pleasing to wood. The trees wear their sashes as an honorary order.
Already the sargasso bodies float by.Someother afternoon I shall spread my knees apart, distempered as a human fish,
but wanting to hold hands like an old man. Someone in a large boat catch me. Allow me to flop against
the bulkhead or on the shore of shells.But not in the cooler with the others.I am so afraid of the violence. © 2012 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on August 7, 2012Last Updated on August 7, 2012 Author
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