Strange material
You have rendered.
You have penned
Strange words:
Broken dark things, clenched
In broken coils,
Blood-choked and
Clotted,
Oozing oily slow
Onto the page,
Smeared—your hand
Shaking,
Secreting shadows
From the tunnels
Twisting down
Behind
Your eyes—conducting
This atonal
Symphony
Alone,
Swallowed by this strange
Material
Which you have
Rendered.
Faultless, You must have been disappointed. You must have protested To the soundless stars: Good begets good. Light, light. What of this? Borne on a litter of promises, Warm and worn, You…
In the spring I sow clover In the garden, with my lover. Our own small thing: our yard, A sky starred with clover. We lie, serene, unguarded, Each in the other fully…
She packed a magazine! for overnight I saw her! And wonder, “Why this issue?” Am I not enough to occupy her every waking? Does my presence invite such dread? My insulted ego…
Is this when you cry? Where you tumble down the hillside beg and plead for another lazy day one more wasted minute? A week you’ll wisely Imbibe sobriety? This isn’t the return…