None of us would have admitted having sentiments or fears, but we had to have the right loafers, wide belt, sober tie, a madras jacket, hair just too long, and a studied slouch, suggesting bored intelligence and the athlete’s effortless grace. It was 1967, part and not part of what’s called now, with more than…
I spent a night in the Simic woods. I pulled my bed behind me through the trees. I was a plowshare plowing ground mist. Accordion players still playing their accordions Were lying draped over the low branches; And girls ran back and forth through the orchard Tickling their bottoms with partridge wings. “No matter what…
If I loved him—I loved him— I cannot remember the whole middle part where the gods never go, they’d be bored. Of the beginning—how many poems to describe his buoyancy, and gaze, and hands— how many times can the act of whispering together be a remonstrance to the underworld? And the end is completely remembered—…
To take, like water, whatever shape you flow through, fill, or rest in. And to choose that shape. * As: Brian, become a gangster, six feet from my face. Voice no longer a caress but a sharpened projection, belly a ram in a buttoned vest. The whole body shows the thing done: goat-song…
Lumber me up, my licky bloke, my one so far unseen, my limbered timber boy. What luck to bucky suck till sated, luminous tuneful body to play on, even now long play me on. I hanker for the slow bang of my love, his howl and cheek, shebang, the flaming oh’s of his moany mouth….
Another day of hair in my food. Another day of being cheated, Overlooked. Another day of nausea. I play Beethoven: Symphony 9. The violin simmers for an instant, And the cello is the instant, And the timpani, The timpani comes crashing. My stomach turns its peach pit to the moon! The sound says I am…
Becomes a layer, means a look A tilt my skull to better Seesaw from this to back To finishing for a kiss To lean on the fall of your hair My thumb and forefinger Like the rain Pooling gain by plurality.
Once a whiff, once a flint, the shifty skystuff blinds me on five sides. I take icefuls of noise and gas rounding out an inside. I prepare the upper reaches by kissing distance back into my skull like a transparent worm. Smoke keeps returning a little freckled, so I use it too. Throw it up…
When kiss spells contradiction it spills an ocean of open clothes. I gave me to one who hung hearts so high it was a mast in mute blue weather, the clang and strop of it, the undercover wet. Said are they sails your impenetrables that only winds can jibe them, the arc and the rip…
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