the sun and the rough side of the seam showing

 

 

 

Is a love poem the same as an I LOVE YOU poem? Do we wait for it's qualifiation like a lantern

waits for the investigation of nightfall?

 

Or the broach your mother gave to our daughter that morning when her leg had turned to wood

and the doctors took it off like a darkened fruit for the retable shelf above the alter?

 

Certainly its fossilized now and used by Lucifer as his staff to turn over the ashes of the

others who refused salvation. You were so gracious then, as soul music can be, fixed

 

with temperament and fancy emotion. Your brother, the bottom of his shoes slick from

the gravel on the loading dock, would slide around James Brown style, his shirt fitting

 

closely. We would laugh yet hold hands to his sincerity. What happened to us, I mean,

what hapened to our science, our sweaty laws with those practical endings?

 

Now you scorch my pants intentionally so I have to ride into town with all the zodiac

signs adorned on my Lazarus legs as if a giant, snarling snake had scared the pee out of me.

 

Or that me and the serpent, reticulated in embrace, had made love, bloody and gothic,

in the spiny leaves; in the blue pale flowers,

 

on the indisputable white sheets.

Reviews

[Steven]

our sweaty laws with those practical endings

thats why I keep reading you, right there

[writing mojo]

well done in brush strokes of time
involving a canvas of a broken down home, I can dream to the spine in this kind of poem, which brews rocking images, through a salamander marmalade, spread on the eyes, leaving an elixir of invigorating shedding wish on my mind to think of life this way...great piece

[Corset]

I never understand a a single poem you write but that is where the beauty of your art lies, They make me smile and nod as if I don't speak the same language, like our housekeeper when a word in english makes her scratch her head, yet we love her.

[Emily B]

maybe they aren't the same at all

it's funny, i tell creatures every day that i love them, sometimes they even believe me, but do they ever wonder - how much?