Staring at that gold
seam up her ass,
stitched on that fathomless
blue that takes my eyes
as deep as a lover—
I find my way
in that blue night
by such luminous constellations
and that of the shining
rivets on her back pockets.
Five decades, my eyes
have strained
to de-magnetize themselves,
but every time, a Columbus
rises up within me and tries again
to peer around the geometry-defying
horizon of that curve,
to a new world,
or through it,
to some infinite depth.
The voice of reason
simply has no case,
once the actual body
of desire bursts into the room
and everyone else inside me
stampedes to see her,
that dark, voluptuous,
illumined sky, and who knows,
perhaps the night sky itself
is really a great, jeaned woman?
Very tongue in cheek(s) . I liked this poem, and also the commnents about it.
I don't know why women have so much trouble understanding men in the first place, because it is we who put those jeans on! Or maybe CCR expressed it in their song, 'I See The Pale Moon Rising! ' Loved this poem.
I have never yet been able to fathom how men think, or what, if it exists at all, is the male psyche...your poem gave me a personal insight into yours. Good poem. Thanks. I might try a new poem as to how men in blue jeans affect me!
I never will figure out how the male mind operates.............but I do like this attempt to put it into perspective - good job! Linda
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, thanks for the image! Loved the Columbus stanza. I think you've hit upon something - must be our exploratory nature. 10 from me. -chuck