Peacock Nights II

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How can I not bestow upon you
the choicest adjectives
the oldest of nouns –
The burn-burn, the sing-sing
And all that is sensed with mirror sounds.

How can I not leave upon you
the marks of my longing
my sleepless dawns -
The moon-moon, the sun-sun
And all that is sucked into your bottomless yawns.

How can I not rest upon you
this marble head, these deadened arms
this bag of bones, this fallow farm -
The hum-hum, the sting-sting
And all that crawls in its wicked warmth.
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Peacock Nights

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Take my hand, sweet love,
dull master, duller friend. And bind me
to the echoes of your silk love.
So that I, in a dull moment, never crave
the whirling whip of your soft flesh.
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Road Kill

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I take her hand
Put it to my throat
Murder me! I say
And she giggles.

Later,
we make love
Later,
we lie in bed
Later,
we wonder

About all we can kill,
merely by loving.
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On the Beach

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A sea, A moon, A rose. Boats,
blundering boats.

Tossing, hither, thither,
Riding waves,
Fluorescent green.

The roving eye of the light house.
A wind
, I don't know;
Sand
, that yields;
Impressions
, false;
Feet
, bare;
And the night
, endless.
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Premonitions

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Be brave love,
Be very brave love
For the wind now moves in circles
And the birds all twitter disaster.

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Punctuate

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Punctuate, she says. Punctuate.
Punctuate carefully, your motions, your thoughts,
punctuate all you've got.
And people.

Turn them into words,
and phrases, and clauses, and questions;
things you know.

Instead of
this endless stream that feeds into you,
like some giant apparition
trying to climb down your throat.

Punctuate, she says.
Punctuate a lot.
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