Flapjacked
dusk
butterburnt
undernight
with the last pondwaters frying minnows in mud
we are
yellowmixed palates by the riverrope
swinging over the logdammed still
and d
own
d
own
by
the watertower
in the moonsilver pines
glading,
gliding
dipped in
skin
gripped, hung hightight by the wind
and yanked to wrinkle
we
step dripping in leaves
tenderly
and
tremble
hands
on my neck and strap
mine deep
in the carmine clod
a kiss that
fleds the owl
from the
hollowshorn tractor
hulking,
dead, smallshelled-side
below slant
of the woodplanked whistlebridge
a swooping soon
which burbles and croaks among the wheelskippingstones,
and dips
and butts its beak into our mouths
shatters
our teeth with limestone gums
until we
choke and gasp at featherheadbucking
and
flurries, flies, carries our breath away
clutched
in orange hindly feet
and walking home
wet hair
lank
flapping
back,
cold hands creaking the hot night’s shutters with a crickety
tremble that spanks our sin,
I rest quimbelling
nightsilence
cymbaling
flung wetbacked
against embattled stones
with a hotbreath wracking and pulled off
the shelf.
No comments:
Post a Comment