Monday, December 28, 2009

A hood of vapor sipping wine

Pause at this ledge, clutching white entrails,
cursing brother back in a womb, who comes
through so much delay to locate me,
sitting at luxurious table with legs crossed
like awful scissors, to pound the earth in its mercy
between ribs, to let him in through root, stone,

to pause at this ledge with his pulse in my hand
discovering the outerside of outside-ways.

To pause in his frame, with my person, an owl
overlooking our efforts from a fork
in married pines. To pause
in his person with my frame, encountering
only the hot faint edge of him,

past sand, far past root, past stone,
into the volcanic sacs with hands
like white grapes, paused at the ledge
of his demon neon, clutching a veiny wig,
from the center of that beautiful humanoid,
watching the owls of all and subtlest colors

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