Surrealistic Sutures For The Acetylene Virgin Poem by Warren Falcon

I think that poetry should stay
awake all night drinking in dark cellars.' - Thomas Merton


Look to the body for metaphor -

Look to blood, use this word
in relation to dreams or flowers
while silver runs in veins which
are usually streets or vines.

Breasts, male and female,
are stars, have to do with
a handful or feet to span them.

Abdomen, then, is a great
Milky Way gathering,
holding, expelling comets,
caroling colons' humming.

Spleens are bones to pick teeth
with, teeth which are, of course,
sea horses or gravestones bearing
images of the Flagrant Heart to
tame this spot of gypsum and flint,
to charm where Violin's cut throat
sings itself awake, one black breast
out of its fold slapping metal seas
against dropping metal shores in
Sidelight's shadow across this
hand writing now, slap of waves
mute in this stillness of knees.

So lend a darkness to gardens,
ancient pattern of a breast,
cloth lightly lifting, black on black.

From Her chest reveal a slenderer
throat that nods when she swallows
and names her peace.


The delicate will not pass away just yet.


Great Seamstress of Space,

sew, please,

with fingers of dew.