Babylon slim
-ness of
evenslicing
eyes are chisels

scarlet Goes
with her
whitehot
face,gashed

by hair’s blue cold

jolts of
lovecrazed abrupt

flesh split “Pretty
Baby”
to
numb rhythm before christ

My father, in those moments
of what almost seemed like
hope for me,
would push back his cap,
tap his forehead and say

This is the only thing no one can ever take from you.
It's the only thing that's yours.

His brilliance was his only pride.

When I left his house,
I took only what was mine.

I blamed it all on Scorpius—
my secret self, the sting, the lust,
my conditional approach to trust.

I shrugged at Mars when jealousy
and suspicion got the best of me;
I was just his astral devotee.

And my vengeful hate for all unjust?
It all went back to Scorpius,
but, alas, I hovered on the cusp;

I'm Libra now. I'll readjust.

Because my love cannot be the orchestra,
I have hidden it in the glissandos;
do not listen for it when the music swells,
but in the resonance of in betweens.


Because my love cannot be the whole summer,
I have strapped it to the legs of bees;
do not look for it in flowered fields,
but in the pollen stuck to window screens.

This is how we love:
First with fire, then without.
Who was tending the embers?

467

We do not play on Graves—
Because there isn’t Room—
Besides—it isn’t even—it slants
And People come—

And put a Flower on it—
And hang their faces so—
We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—
And crush our pretty play—

And so we move as far
As Enemies—away—
Just looking round to see how far
It is—Occasionally—

I'm not good for you.

I'm better at seduction 

than love; love is hard.

The wrong thing
seduces the heart
into a quiet corner
and the right thing
kills it.

In love's dances, in love's dances
One retreats and one advances,
One grows warmer and one colder,
One more hesitant, one bolder.
One gives what the other needed
Once, or will need, now unheeded.
One is clenched, compact, ingrowing
While the other's melting, flowing.
One is smiling and concealing
While the other's asking kneeling.
One is arguing or sleeping
While the other's weeping, weeping.

And the question finds no answer
And the tune misleads the dancer
And the lost look finds no other
And the lost hand finds no brother
And the word is left unspoken
Till the theme and thread are broken.

When shall these divisions alter?
Echo's answer seems to falter:
'Oh the unperplexed, unvexed time
Next time...one day...one day...next time!'