May 27, 2014

squared circle matted...

Sunny Morning On The Hudson River, Thomas Cole (1827)

dogwood coffee poem

right now
I was certain
of one thing
I’d rather be fucking you

I’m horny/ longing like clouds at the tops of mountains/ wanting to know the poems of bend and bottom/ the river-tongue thriving and hawk-barker-ed tribal hiving under-bellying of words and images scratched into the shale, clays, tides and rains/ I was prepared, as best I knew how, to fight myself tooth and gales today/ because deep May is all about how the fertile ringing blindly drives desire

roiled and brooding/ the sky was sea foam splashed/ half uttered Austrian lace/ trembled in a pretty asymmetry/ etching chaos and precipices near the roar of a storm coming/ even the ground clung humidity was wearing brand new imbalance/ eyelet-ting round knife sounds I’ve always pinched time with/ here in this old valley/ gathering pieces of me between the sewn fabric and membranes, I lash my love to the insides of my soul/ caging lost intentions I’ve found forged and scattered to where poems wanted to go

dogwood petals
are strewn about desperate
in curling lipped browns
begging for more blooms

June is calling
the heat is rising/
steam is bending light
above the asphalt/
and all the earnest vines
and leaves are filling in


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