Monthly Archives: May 2011

calico

there is no hum I don’t think of you.
your form bent over, your fingers
nimble and gnarled. I wear the
pride of you, the bolts and yards
of paisleys and purple dots,
the lengths of thread and days
and myths you spin as you sew.
an orphan who’s saved from his
jealous aunt by a neighbor who
knows his tea, a corpse that
woke to walk again by the crossing
of a cat, a curse for a pockmarked
husband in a bowl of uneaten rice.
as you whir and weave your tales
to me, I see how your calico dress,
crimson with spots, dances around
your gliding and unshod feet.

Advertisements

unfeeling

broken glass under my skin
and i can’t crawl out.
the thought of you splits
me like moonlight,
like paper, blank and blinding.
trying hard to reconcile
the different parts of you.
her fingerprints have left evidence.
your body is a crime scene
and i am a casualty.
some things should be left
dead where they lie.
but you’ve returned
like Lazarus from the grave,
but i’m no healer and i
have lost all my faith.


missing

no more sentimentality
letters that don’t arrive
i peer behind lamp posts
waiting for an answer
from the absence that
can only be seen in the light


4am

the cigarette smoke dances
patterns with the shadows.
light escapes through the crack
and the uneven repose
finds not only the moon but
the senses tireless.
i seem to dream in waves,
i’ve said, to count the heat
as one. whether waking
or dead or in between
the soul stills shakes in me.


noontide

it seems indecent to expose
these lines to the common day
like drunks and milky thighs
the light does not belong.
i wander darkened alleys to peer
into closets where, perchance,
she may have left the moonlight
more bearable than the duality
that sets her name atilt and spins
in almost as beautiful a motion
as her legs around the poles.


nightfall

the sun has died and
we have turned our backs.
if it weren’t for the vertigo
that keeps my head in stars
the night’s black, like wishes,
would fall upon us.
i keep the elements here
in these constellations
rearranged them to form
syllables that sound like
sisters, like hunters, like
bears, like a queen whose
vanity has turned her
upside down.


daybreak

at first light, when the birds
thrash about on the silver linden
when the city’s fury thunders
in rage and rumbling concrete
and the old bum rummages
trash cans for reasons to breath,
the incandescent god surmounts
the horizon and peeks into the
streaked glass window to tell me
it is time.