Thursday, January 08, 2009

Wings Drag on Water

Guarding the doorway of rustles,
cotton plants under gray desire.
Summer morning air kissing,
Two women squat, pissing by her smoke.

Innocently drinking a week of inedia,
The round eyes lay burning in the dusk.
Prawns flow across the palm,
Constrained by throat-burning fluids,
Wondrously attired in fingers.

Dusk in the morning.
The first agressive rush of secret books,
The beach retreats from kisses merry,
But likes best
When filled with shadowy pleasures.

Her head filled,
Paints in a studio,
Scratchy recording kissing,
A ritual, a pause.
We who pass see her,
Naught else, but know what's buried
A few feet away.

Dying animal makes clarity,
A handful of bright past.
Hiking 18 miles,
Play ritual upon a beach.
Walking home, one might flee
Even if strong.

Strong, my skin on a stick,
She leads the procession
Through a restaurant kitchen,
To chests of women, where my hands are taken.

Women empty of shadows
Rise in black smoke
As wings drag on water.
What to the south wind
Is contingent like ferns in April.

Roots, sea nettles in a crowded nightclub,
Gaze chisels of sleepy lust
In a nearby parking lot,
Water-kissed frenzies
remain Southern.

Beachcombing in the dying light,
Animals make eyes pressing ice.
Ice, waking from sand
Consisting of tiny periwinkle rain-soaked asphalt,
Somehow to hide my water
That I save for the mellow dark children.

Heat lightning toy,
abandoned in an apartment.
The sun rises on reason.

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