Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Poem 9 – Love in the archive

(for Kate)

My lumberjack shirt is speaking among the bubbles
took them out of the liberry
working nostalgia like a new glove

The hour itself is lace, nipple of the clock
if cup if
me swallow you crouched on their capital
all over again is

Diving the absurd mostly when it makes sense
of your early work to see rough
through the layers sick higher
real women, big dimensions
from the point-of-view of a refined vampire

And oh how you women who are sealed
this hand over and this pass on
your pain management system a Morse piano
the human is easy happenstance fault of being
flesh and heart and liver and lungs and sweat

How dangerous this which skirts
between so real it lights up the clover
twisted no name, no hat
amid the mystic fields of
I wander'd and beheld a grove

Impermanent force
that changes how a system
evolves with time and should
I not have had I might have
rusted in the forest

Yours are looking exceptionally
interesting tonight
the original paintjob
shows through

Might I check out
that little ridge there?

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