O *****'s opposite,
A great wall
     Of spine,
A Yin and Yang
     Of tongues,
We tug and pull
At territories,
     Acupuncture,
Our souls
     Populous
Of me and her,
As our energies, powers,
     Superpowers, stirring,
Growing, binging,
     Surging, and resurging,
Engulf
     A blazing evening.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

it is the dawn of the avenue.

          the children sing rain
and the fire i burn glowers.

o, it is when the twilight came
i was speaking then, to you,
all the trees beauteously bring
you to me and our hands handle
the hours full of moon.

the patter of the rain they sing
and the bundle of woe i bring
by the avenues traced by
girl-graces, strewn loveliness of
basket hollows and singsongy
feelingfulness — look at what the
wind does to the berries,
and ourselves in brightened plaudit;
hands no playthings, i touch her
silken thighs and death peers
no longer; only yawns in the speechless
distance, frequent dream-pauses
drenched in sweat of nightly heat
  your mouth tasting chrysanthemums.
luminance of voice blinds the shadowy
  corner, light lifts, god pulses in
the deepest, most final mirror of ourselves, supreme over all and i,
   in the most radiant green of all earth,
smiling at my lover's body.

a word, haphazard
   by the thwarted world,
for the word
     and from the word, springs
beyond extension, a cherry-taint
    of tongue and its exquisite redness
yet never what our purloined voices
     hold, falling quick the immense
roundness of the bedlam;
  such is still
in war when all the burly men
and the hubbub of artillery
  make only the commune
this is our utmost, deepest,
   wounded memory.
our life's entrails crouch no longer
  a striped tiger by the door
redolent of the many ebbed deaths;

  nights i lie awake
  and see all language lift,
  leaving in the night sky,
  an array of temporal splendors,
   famishing all the Earth in the dark,
  abandoning it, cross-eyed!