a man, complex in his simplicity has gone
unnoticed. his eyes touhed us like
a feather burnt too soon by the ice
of hate. his mouth too often breathed
it came stamping down the street
one heaving June (so thick my
tongue could slice the air)
three they walked
papa, fils, and spiritus not so sanctus.
the over image of a none-all smile
love is a nonsense poem
wreathed in black and
purple, sitting on a
gilded lily, making
his love is so big you
froze from the heat of it,
Every face fills me in liquid dreams
tasting in embittered aspirins their worth.
Forevering seas and the sun, though hollow
as an unclutched hand make love
we've spent our nights in dark communion,
hands lingering on warm words,
whispering in black and blue commas.
born in a rioting protest of umber leaves
swathed in a bed of sterile sheets
with redded toes, she's
jumping on the lake.
on skies peopled in strawberry ice cream,
one sun, father of a moon,
tossed his head in a rain-loved lake