only you.

for dora

 

 

 

I need to go riding in the night but I can't/didn't. The garage door won't open,

held down by that crazy ghost again, so I won't be going safely.  That spell of

 

staying, locked away from the doors and windows with my herbs and fur; that

crazy man, in his state of enchantment, blowing his ergative, inflectional morphemes,

 

like a little sister, her hand on the lock, that won't let you in or out. Her netsuke new,

in seven years she will unfasten her kimono sash to you.

 

I've known this place before, this sweet charnel, this chamber of bodies and bones.

I was extremely lucky to find you

 

when I did, full of leaves like those Walmart compost bags, insanely brown,

left on the curb without madras or passepartout.

 

My finger traces birds and you, like some ultraviolet reality, then escape like that bird,

like that star from the solar wind, that charmeuse weave, bright as a newborn shoe.

 

I have exhausted every eye I have; can see only brows or the orbit of lashes

exult, like the muscle of an ordinary light. Can you imagine that sight, of bird

 

dance and dew, that hooked hamuli twist where your feathers pretend to scratch me.

and I fake blue.

 

There are desires the color of mercurochrome, rust with that stick to lather

the sore, to stain the good shirt. I enter the hurt, the inkling the clure; you had no the

 

faintest. The wants of the moon surface is simple, to grind into you or sleep on your

dust like a 68 foot print, stuck in that dream of being the first to land on you.

 

You star; your planet, they are changeable you know, suitable to be changed. Catching

the fly with one hand was pure luck. Try doing it again. Finding  the little jerks of jewel

 

pretending, pretending as layer on layer of nothing covers the most precious memory,

is the magnetic pull of incubus from some infusible Magdalen

 

of virginity and rubidium goo, that burst into spontaneous flame

in the air to paradise too/

Reviews

[Adam Whitworth]

thrilling

[Emily B]

now i'm just jealous . . . this is pure magic

[Tree]

Your words stimulate all my senses here, each individual couplet bringing me a new scent––––another color, A texture. I will be revisiting this poem again, I know there is more to discover/ in-between those lines... brilliant piece/ Dana