Sunday, November 14, 2010

urgent cupboards unfold

let the hurt run deep

your hands poised there look at them
the big gun fretting at its work

there in the market mid-afternoon
buying wool for the evening
guffawing away into smoke

I looked down at my finger snapped off
the train coming in
the misty postcard light
rain of blood
is this perfect?

here I will diode
and shrink
like bee wolfs
thick and sharp
full of green

in the thick fear I think of breasts
I think I see them
coming at me
why the sad comfort of dripping eaves
as little cold mouths looking out?

this wine goes everywhere
nothing is elated

is there any difference
facing a bullet
standing on tiptoes
looking down at that fall
I am scared by your sex

love is a pattern recognition
I suppose
here in the wild hills we ride red goats
sleep in wet disaster
wake to explosions

you want to be us
you hate us for it


No comments: