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I didn't know a single branch And preferred devotions over nature. For my part, poems were something anarchical-- Much more so than people. But when I met you, coming out of the sore Spot that was "poems," I didn't think twice. Like a yellow shock in the winter grass You were a weight on my heart. I forgot my prayers and learned weeds. My heart was a bell in my chest. And verse was already insufficient, darling To predict our path, convulsion-- the quantum: you and me. posted by Reen at 3:13 PM | link| versify 0 comments
At Nightfall There’s nobody’s home But the clock. The statue Of wintry Odin paces In place in the garden. The whiteness of death. The sting of frost. Snow and chrome. There’s nobody home. Again that one black eye. Again the chiming clock. It gets earlier each day And Odin’s here alone. Again I go to sleep In the armchair by the clock. It gives out a little sigh. Again that one black eye. The statue gathers the snow The fire gathers the heat. The chime sounds like the sea. You, as always, are gone. Odin's one black eye In all that endless snow. You were my mother once. Then you had to go. posted by Reen at 7:58 AM | link| versify 0 comments
August's thick sweat Lifts an arm, puckers An elbow. The face A precipice for words: Fall from the precipice, Little cries, and see, Growing smaller And farther, the tight Crease in each cheek, The range of teeth Like Tetons. Turn it Over, and we'll spy The doctor's guess: Chubby legs a minefield of indentation. But time escapes us: we Will know the answers only when we have the evidence before us (better to be buried alive than deadened by unfulfilled hope). posted by Reen at 8:54 AM | link| versify 0 comments
The Aloe Plant The green giggly gumdrop of your roasted head, all aslather out of the medicine cabinet. A novel resuscitation fluid, it really feels like it's doing something, pores absorbing the juice inherited in a very small pot after an island vacation led to several dermatological emergencies. O fleshy arms, o half-assed spines and weak striation, let me just hack off a limb or two and graft you onto my own dead skin, spark my translucent, green-glazed reflection in the mirror, wincing under light. I'm otherworldly here, cooked and basted, consuming still the juices I can stand, healing whole. O aloe, you see how it is: The sun fed you, but burned me, and now you have to go. posted by Reen at 10:30 AM | link| versify 0 comments
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