bat-girl

a love poem?

 

 

 

 

   I applaud springs diddle

   endentulous to noon.

   Weedy as an emigrants

   garden, poised for

   pleasure, mutable

   but true. Covetous

   as this earth, dying off,

   whose black edges a

   urines quantum; a

   known and declared

   queen who can, with

   a wave, scuttle wind

   sea and spiel.

   Forgetting,

   or trying to forget,

   the way lavender feels

   or any tameless

   suspicion.

 

 

   Tell me again/

 

 

   Just for you, the hidden

   reds of myrtle, hysteric

   if not beautiful. It's frock

   of rosy flowers and dark

   berries fragrant as

   a new universe.

   Pushing, pushing the

   lovers of the kiss;

   Osculum of all reflection,

   freedom, myself or

   anything nisus to

   duty.

 

 

   Chemical in my sentiment

   isn't it? But classically

   approved by the saraphim

   of ruined angels.

   Nothing is more curable

   nor emotive as the eggs

   of Shema, my futile

   confession of faith.

   er-go

   sequins on my balls

   is the pale misery

   that love is.

Reviews

[Emily B]

you remind me of a poet that used to be here years ago, i was a less practiced poet in those days and i never understood what his poems were trying to say, he offered to take me on a walk through his words, a hand-holding stroll through blueberry lanes

i think the thing that strikes me most about your poetry is the words you use, i may not know what endentulous means, but it is the most perfect word for that line, i love this write

[Corset]

Tell me again/





Just for you, the hidden

reds of myrtle, hysteric

if not beautiful. It's frock

of rosy flowers and dark

berries fragrant as

a new universe.

Pushing, pushing the

lovers of the kiss;

Osculum of all reflection,

freedom, myself or

anything nisus to

duty.


I will sing you from a million rooftops, my beautiful friend Dana.

Chemical in my sentiment

isn't it? But classically

approved by the saraphim

of ruined angels.

Nothing is more curable

nor emotive as the eggs

of Shema, my futile

confession of faith.

er-go

sequins on my balls

is the pale misery

that love is.

Right about here your style changes a bit and becomes less decorative and more reflective, but no less poignant, it's as if right about here you started accepting
yourself a little more.