A poem about life and death/ Then a sonnet about love, emotions |
The Interchange Where are the angels to pick me up and drop me down? All hollow. Now, like a marble sound clunking around in my fishbowl home, where I struggle to swim. I reach out and lose touch in soft spaces of mist, where water departs for virgin births that come about in those places that summon me and disturb the water. I am pulled by the throat, and when I scream for release I only choke and spittle out words that jumble together like planets, or atoms converging with atoms and I wonder what if at the end of the trip, the pieces don't fit, and none of the Queen's men can put me back together again? Perfection is the interchange of gold and grey. "Awake" they say. "You haven't the toll to pay." I rise from sticky wombs and sheets of sleepy cocoons. Contemplating, coughing, Dreaming, not talking. Our souls are dim and wearing thin, and we are grateful of our maker until the day comes that forgets to begin. Our Lord, the Father, the mover and shaker. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Little Girl on a Prairie Like raindrops falling on inner thighs and dusk-heat and fire form seeds from sighs And somewhere someone else’s tears flood Insect homes with earth, pus and mud. I imagine their ghosts glide through her burs And into the sky. Floating, fallen timbers from heaven and hell brush my eyelash still, and swoon and taste candy ashes. And I imagine she falls for the other in all her feat to function as a brother for the girl weeping still. On her chain swing still. And grieves for the ants who died in their stream at will. And I imagine she must have loved all of them, So I plucked the Lilly and examined only the stem. |