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| 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
EJR ©
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