March 29, 2012

poem 106 of a poem a day for 2012

 what a soapstone siren does at a higher frequency is part of it

wash, rinse, repeat
a favorite wear
tumble dry low
in the rain
seduction is induction
to lying on the shelf
so I drink until
I spill my guts
and seduce the shadow self
with the name
of every plaything imagined
shy as my eyes are too
full of want
full of myself
so lock away
your unwanted because
I enjoy the challenge
of breaking and entering
I enjoy finding all
that have been left
to wither on the vine
so that I can breathe life
into me while
at their ripe ends
perhaps with a curled
slow trace of my fingers
in all the bouquet-color of sin
or I could just let the Sun
back in through
the window again

and wear this smile too
that is not necessarily a collar
or a pin
though most know
submission is the easiest
way to the
I am so inclined
to be worshipping
at your altar
of copulatory
painted canvases
where every eyelash
is a brushstroke of another Dawn
peering over the shoulder
to snug against an out
the window look
I hope I left enough of me
in here, in there to keep
while the muse just reaps
our music
tilling the silences
between our heaves
yes the muse
takes note still
and eats
every trail crumb
home from here

will beg
to put murder
in their divides
with all that I have 
and who is still
left to do my dear
they know I too
love to peel
the fragrant petal-stink
of the morning after
and mix it into
each spill
I remember
to leave
for my palette board
when this moment
it’s spell

so we laugh
in our coffee cups
and know
every day
is laundry day
in some part
of ourselves
and because
we also know
it’s raining
this morning too
you decide
to stay in
my warm mud
inside my ritual  
of beautifully dirty
just a little
like I like
to do


No comments:

Post a Comment