I
All this honeymaking makes for
a dizzy bit of deep love emerging, or
maybe a cymbal or a drum beat on
the stove turn’d off, libido off,
everything coils, roped in and taut
like a Cohiba burning a hole in his pocket,
or a pontoon arching its back and
laughing because the word “Doh” was
put in deep, below the muscle, where
the ache of dragging 871 pages of Whalen
up to the summit antlike and nest-
bound for a buzz of some kind, but
without acreage, pollination and its
inevitable honey.
II
Having just wrested control of her bowels
she ricochets beneath the weight
of her sports bra. I say Wonder Woman!
She says: “I’d forgotten about the baby”
and he sits in mist from
while featureless crabs pinch sand,
catching wet, wind & September sun all at
once. Who survives annihilation of
poetry minds, strapped on
as if they awoke without mud in
their teeth, maybe a spot near the
hips, or the curve of buckles undone,
cast in stone just like these passing
states of “I.”
written w/ Meredith A. Sedlachek
9.06.08 – 3PM
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