Saturday, October 6, 2012

Whet Anchorage


Anchor cut
Frothing regret & promise of a pillow--
The past through hurt—


Discovered out of the lightness
Put velvet between my vertebrae:


The glands of a man are ill-built hands,'
Adept to seize


Put velvet between my vertebrae,
I relent—
                         let others gather your poses.


I am tired of rending
In the rind of your elbow--
A standby tree, snailly emotive,
Flexing thirst,  


Along distance whets

The eye a metaphor of toys,
Harbingers of gesture satcheled

Past hurt in the insipid nightbread
Muffining of the violent glass.

No comments:

Post a Comment