Indigo Hawkins

Indigo Hawkins Poems

'Let the love of harlots be sanctified.' ~unknown woman

When you come to me, realize I behest
no edifice. Love me in a gutter

-There is no Why.-
wet walnuts, mellow daffodils
a vat of cider simmering psalms

I think this as I step
out of the downpour into my body, a trough
where this yearning collects and solidifies
into something like a plea, an Eloi, Eloi stuck

I read the bible for the poetry and for
the love, or at least I did before
I became afraid of churches.
My fear of them stems

crisp pearl apples hemorrhage
splashes of walnut wash

the decay dribbles between

Morning brought a bird with the body of a man. A bird with one
big vacant eye and a beak, smooth, body a sickle, unsatisfied
motion muted by muscle atrophy as her angular, absurd voice
murmured bone echoing upon the innards of a dark steel vault.

this month I began a new cycle
of creation-resignation-perpetuation.
who am I, and who are you?
if only I knew, if only I knew:

the day began as a mirage.
dressed in the garb of a wise king,
i dab frankincense on my wrists

Everyone can rhyme, but who has the time
to spend their days grumbling about the sublime?

Who cares to be querulous, who wants to be serious?

Billiards, darts, coke bottles from 1952.
Among this junk, I don't know what to do.
I think it's time that I let go of you,
but once more I've returned to this basement,

gossamer and fluttering, his hand
grazes his throat as he gushes about language,
and I remember he is not a child, no matter
how animatedly he speaks. truly fascinated now,

returning to my first home, it smells
like transcendentalism and THC, as if
the smeared memory of his green canvas coat

I want my soul to sing
Like its been bursting too; I want to display passion
With a pulsing red, and color it with conflict
By adding a jolt of lurid green.

i have this new love, named Haemon.
he calls me Darling and holds me
closely as if i am his dear Life herself.
we met at a masquerade. while he

laughter is citric acid squirted in my eye
the florescent stinging of release
inside a flooded bag of lemons

There's nothing like the threat of poverty
to sweeten the beaten path, except rum,
& martyrdom, when at last overcome
by shame of excess. O lord don't leave me.

Himalayan blessings settle, wind-wrung,
in this pocket of Appalachia—sung
to blurry blue mountains, empowering
our worn gods, whom we've sat devouring.

I met you walking in an olive grove.
Strong and unhidden, you let the sun rove
on your thighs, fervor darkening your eyes…
that's all it took for me to realize:

We were very weary, and not very wary—
We'd been harassed all night by a cop named Larry.
The streets were dark and dank; we felt unstable—
We began stumbling home to watch roller derby on cable.

The Best Poem Of Indigo Hawkins


'Let the love of harlots be sanctified.' ~unknown woman

When you come to me, realize I behest
no edifice. Love me in a gutter
or not at all. I merely want to rest
my temple on your temple - to utter
“Hosanna” in the shared throat of a split
alley; to awake spread beneath heavens,
frank before your eyes of melted wax, lit
with a tart torridity which leavens
my body as if I were dough submerged
in a puddle of consecrated wine.
I will pour holiness as honey, splurged
on rose hips and sopping clothes: our benign
impurities to dulcify and bless -
I attest we have no sins to confess.

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