Sister, Brother1.Sister, Brother
Your face is a lighthouse, sister. A smile on you is a pearl Caught on the crooked tooth of an oyster. You sleep with the air of a cat as it purrs beneath the quilt. I imagine our meeting, you tangled up in me, a flightless bird cradled in my hands, but your mother hides my letters and your father lies to cover you. You escape them on a runaway train, far from my net of ink and phone lines.
I fear I will be left in the station, Alone with your picture, and we Will not knot arms, elbows, toes --The promise you sent bouncing Of
HandsHANDSHands
"I like your hands." And it falls from my lips like snow. Cobalt eyes, and hands of ink and jazz and stone. Your hands like wings or wheat flowers in mason jars of milk.
Your long fingers curl around the leather of the steering wheel. Night, red light. You like the veil of trees on my street. I watch you drive.
"They're a boy's hands," the kind that envelope, sink into cotton cloth, hold books, break bones, and play chords on boards of brass.
If I were to trace the trails of your
The RookeryI turn from the path And walk the mildewed wooden trail In quiet. The wings Of Sycamore seeds, The dry fruit of the Sweetgum Lie beneath my feet. Hot, humid home of spiders, Hut by the bone pale bark Of undulating Cypress Trees, a carpet of fresh Green swollen weeds surrounding. Brackish water, black As Lipton tea bags, Teems with lily-bellied toads, Dark, wrathful water moccasins Slipping in and out of shadow Between grimy Cypress knees. The Cypresses sway, a sound Like bone meeting cobblestone &nThe Rookery
Rain“Rain” Metaphor for the aftermath of rain: Nile Delta, swollen with yellow sand. It is Overcast, gray herons flying towards fish. Plough mud houses Grendel, oozing bones of Cain. Quarter past nine, lazy morning, and the Rain pours down in rivers, Stealing ripened fruit from the fig Tree, like the chickweed that drowned Under the stairs before it could be strained in Vinegar. The vents push up fog, Wet dogs peeling paint on the door, live X-acto knives, they slice the canvas of Yesterday’s dream home, born among Zaftig oak trees, old aRain
Enjoy every minute here!
If you have a problem, just ask me.
--
"Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other." Genesis 11:7
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Just finished jitterbug perfume. I've now realized that perfume is an ancient practice, a religion in itself, and the perfect way to make someone lean in closer to the places where your pulse beats (which are the only places worth leaning into, really ^_^)
Just finished jitterbug perfume. I've now realized that perfume is an ancient practice, a religion in itself, and the perfect way to make someone lean in closer to the places where your pulse beats (which are the only places worth leaning into, really ^_^)
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