LYRIC
O misbegotten fool of inklings
in pools of ink
things cannot be clear . . .
such a mess of hormones
more or less becalmed
in a month of dog days.
Pick me up, I says,
take me out of these sticks
for a chance to toss and stem
the sternstormy outbacks of your eyes,
to make them swim
and roll snake eyes or a hard sex.
O I will sailaway sway
in the craft of your love,
hp high and mighty and swell swell swell
till the moon explodes
a whole new set of stars.
And when eternity arrives
with its artificial resurrection kit
I will return again and again
to your embrace,
until like chariots
the sweet lowing cows swing by
to carry me home.
¤ ¤ ¤
BLACK RAINBOW
"I wish I had a river I could skate away on." - Joni Mitchell
Midnight. Frozen river bows
below a bridge's iron arch . . .
forgetfulness is all I'm after,
after all color sucked away, habituation's rust,
after all heat sucked away, capitulation's dust,
over the black rainbow,
over the river hope could skate on . . .
but here I am, above it all,
heading somewhere in the dark.
