I was lying when I said I loved this city. This sanctimonia and sacrilege.
September with its shorts off, some cowboy cacophony by the pool.
I just need someone to go see or someone to come back to. Some tremolo
in the trellis. Wisteria above the washing machine. My ultimate fetish
is being read to. Granted gratuitousness. Told how you should lead
a domestic life experimenting with aloe and espresso. How you should hope
that all lust is for a life you loathe. I was so careless with my keys
and my liver. I used to floss every single day. Even when someone stood naked
in my doorway. Slipped their dress off like a creamsicle. Whispering, first,
I made everything orange. Then velvet. Then it melted. I used to be so careful.
Perhaps for the infrared or just the regular red. The echo of ecology
in ectoplasm. The television turned to old Soviet films. Borscht
and bayonets. Tarkovsky burning farmhouses and levitating women.
Clairvoyants and cosmonauts. Harmony making me hungry.
Before breakfast I forget the world was ever born. After all, modern life
depends on the survival of the ignorant. Everything stone-walled
and babbling by the brook. Log cabins and cannibalism. The past
persuading. I can never tell if this was my life or just a story I read.
I knew someone buried in a fleece coat. Savior of the shear. We rarely
get to take these things with us. Know if they keep us warm or vice versa.
not unlike foxes or beavers pursued by dogs or royalty
the yard covered in blood like potpourri or letters
simple cages for sounds poems like zoos or sweaters
something looming over September over the rabbits
procreating pleasantly never knowing they are trophies
this history of affection bound with same skin as cruelty
maybe these mondegreens try to warn us
my neighbor whirling in her agoraphobia in her prom dress
how traumatic to know the bystander effect is our most effective
defense I never could stomach watching people play with their food
Silk / Satin / Silver
In between wine glasses today I found leaves
in my bed carefully arranged after falling
from an envelope to the hardwood floor
(all good things come through nature)
so few of our floods biblical yet so many calamities
shrink-wrapped in threes: the first crawled
like a pizza parlor across main street, the second
tasted empty as an anagram, & the third
spoke only broken Spanish to strangers in the rain
(i’ve been crying all day I mistranslate)
in between leaves I found today’s wine glasses
carefully arranged with your perfume
the luxuriant homeland you sent for less than a dollar
(a good nature comes through all things)
were the past cyclical I could be my neighbor’s
wisteria blossoms and labyrinth stones
the guilt for my best friends once we found
a pond deep in the woods and swam naked
in the autumn chill I never found it again
just leaves crunching under our feet I wonder
if they hold the weight of that beauty against me