the night a romance novel appeared

i still live

 

 

 

first, being safe, proves so easy

in our souls, the sweet effloresce

of a distant call, knees together

as some Celtic cross with a ring about

the intersection where, it is said,

your kiva is kept.

Ceremonial-underground.

 

you wear ribbons so well but, truth

be told, I never learned to tie one

at least, not well. Yet, mind you,

being celestial is ok by me.

 

I shall follow you as the moon followed us

in that old Buick, the windsheld caked with steam.

I haven't seen naked feet that big

since Mighty Mouse,

clever and swift, his ceremonial

cape hiding his wish of misbelief/

 

you've changed from the powder crystilization,

making that crazy S. sound

when you said the word flame,

with your mothers overbite

digging Satan from his safflower tomb.

 

I see the kites clamoring in their swell

putting their nest back together with the fluid

that escapes their mouths,

just as you

calmly gluing the edges of a man

back together as arms on a wooden doll;

I have an APP  for the diameter of your heaven,

a Snickers bar with sweat.

 

I even doubt my own hair now. My head

as crescent a planet

as that thing, two nights ago,

that visited the air of the frond;

twisted me, with you (that vine of the apostle)

reimagining ourselves a contrivance

 

Old birdlike Grendel,

monstrous man eater;

queen of the brood.

 

It is, I suppose, what happens when a living thing wishes to break free.

I know strongmen who dress up as women,

just to see another world, not their own.

 

Nothing more.

Reviews

[Emily B]

there is a universe in your words, and each time i visit it just gets wider and wider