five steps of love in detroit

 

 

 

   initially I laid prone to the third sky.

   The second day I wanted the tambourines to last,

   even though our new seeds were locked in

   the old house.

   On the third day I heard organ music;

   Not Jimmy Smith,but a late, bright

   symphony,

   softly at first,

   but then causing a temporary cessation

   of soon to be moveless,

   awful steps.

   The fourth day, unsatisfied, we sat on

   the unpainted porch,

   trying to decipher our burdensome dreams.

 

 

   first I hated you in polkadots.

   Second, different colors, a pagent

   shown to the shoreline, like a

   midieval prince, stone faced,

   but pointing where the emperor presides.

   The third day we flavored the cool-aid again

   and then again like rebellious angels.

   Cool-aid is satin worship you know,

   tempting all humans to hell.

   Fourth, we exchanged clothing and jewelry.

   Sartorius, the boys exchanged muscle

   for pink petticoats.

 

 

   Second we dispraised the singers;

   the first was further disposessed by

   the warm mild of strange, arranged in

   order.

   First Jesus,

   then the Motown sound.

   Third we disappeared in the night,

   holding candles like the civilized,

   rallying for the end to violence

   or the ringing, metallic sound

   of clamant glints

   Fourth, we gave our white gloves

   back to the funeral directors.

   Fifth, sparks connected

   me,

   the oviposit egg layers,

   the pastors

   and the evangelist who taught

   from old books.

 

 

   First, my toe nail has completely come off.

   Second, im'e sure it will grow back

   just reddish and brown.

   Third, I hate you even while

   you claim to love me.

   Fourth, your oxime blood, etc.

   First again,

   your true

   acetylene form                                        

 

 

  

Reviews

[Radia]

I like it ^_^

[Emily B]

i don't hae words enough for a review just now, just wanted you to know i loved these words enough to linger long, reading and re-reading