Subdued in the Wheat of your Belonging


Before I loved you, Love
Nothing was my own, I had nothing
Now I tunnel the moon in everything
The whole world is mine
I am in love with everyone
As if I forgot the case
Of the majesty of each soul

Before I loved you, Love
Things were not as they seemed
Now I walk the streets with your unity
And I am a better man, my mind
Stretches across the illusion of separation
I am a bit of everyone I contact
They see it in me, I want the warehouse

Of illimitable joys, that speaks
The richness of the human spirit
Those four word idioms that show
My splendour of understanding
Before I loved you, Love
I wasn’t myself, you have returned
Me back to you, and as such

I will always love what love always was
Since before all silence, I came from you
And after all landscapes of Earth
I will still yearn to imitate you.

Homage to Repressed Poetic Virgins


50

I wanted to affirm life
In a poem, set life in silent offering
A hundred times, pushing the boat
Into beauty, across the water
Dawn, a crayon summer living
On the edge of literature
And love, these comforting moons

I wanted to begin again in wayside streams
Shout out the alphabets of my
Flaming salute of joy, smile
As if I had waited an entire lifetime
To truly know how to smile
Darling, you gave me the yearning stillness
That allowed me to write again

And I was more of a poet, than a dreamer
Because of you, I wanted to optimize
The way I experience the little things
In a forbidden dance in a never-ending night
Where every day was another
Hour of my life, the extraordinary discovery
Of myself in others, loveliness spelled

Out in infinite variety, in caresses
That penciled the soft outlines of the Earth
I wanted to affirm life
Once and for all, in your hips
Your womb the star-foam of all
I had ever wanted, the swaying plentitude
Of the ripe trance of writing and loving

They were like breathing to my tragic poetic side
I wanted to give life to the repressed virgins
And read them their own poetry
Of femininity, while licking the quatrains
Off of their daring free-verse
It was to be a festive summer
Love would soon blot out

The adventure that I had planned
I wanted to affirm writing an empty verse
From all the lessons I never learned
How fleeting was the poetry
Of my brief life, a few pleasurable summers.

Photography Credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/art/Desire-374379673

O Like a Fire That Flickers for the Fairer Sex


I think of women on
Hot extravagant afternoons
Words from the Earth, my little bread
The water of centuries picked clean
I let the red ink of these prerequisite passages

Settle in me, their earthy wisdom
Like a masseur’s warm open hand
Their expert flirtation of
Psychology and innate fastidious ‘performance’
I think of women on

Cool nights that restore my pulse
I listen to them too much
To hasten to their self-same torments
I’ve heard all of their complaints
On the tipsy tip-toes of poetry

I did nothing to provoke them
My goldenrod of spilled yellow friendship
I am a living animal, in their presence
An outlawed sign-language of my desire
They read on their unmenacing lips

A sour frantic belonging of their value
I think of women on
Mornings of the shrewdest plans
They are instrumental to my cathedral-abundance
I’ve become too good at giving & giving-in

And now a most savage dog
I think of women on the way here, or there
After-hours rain downs my familiarity
I think of women like naming the planets
Pirates of my soul’s bleeding kisses

Whimper, silly, hush, flood, hot-flashed
I think of women and their sweet roar
Sweat, push, pull, sign, moan, hush.

Her Veils are White as Snow


98

My resurrection is a sensitive process
Like a bee-line of women, as symbols
Of the remuneration of my destiny
I want their food, their shelter

Their fragrance, not as significant
Of what I might hoard, or plunder
But of a banquet of trade
That I might have something enriching to offer

O blasphemy is love’s ecstatic fire
I am reckless with the reality of it
Smoothing and apple-green
What in their skin could possibly redeem me?

It’s an illusion of the material world
I’m sure of it, flowers on the water
Lotus bud in the air, I stare past mirrors & windows
Back to nature, back to God

I am clothed in sensual clothing
My resurrection is a taboo exploration
Like a woman’s body that has never been fondled properly.

Photography Credits: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Youthful-heart-373919675