words breaking free
from the cloud of the mind.
the clout of the imperative telling:
this is the wind blowing from all
directions hoping to touch you
where you sleep,
rests its bone somewhere where
no cold shivers the ground,
somewhere familiar
somewhere where both you
and i have found each other
two separate birds joining
in the morning
Magdalene wears these words
melancholically
hand in glove and earth
in the mouth plump and tender
like bosoms of full women
eyes of men having their fill
of imagined sensations in the flesh
tingling forever throbbing
underneath the white moon --
until then the many loves
will read this hoping for a deliverance
the bow of my breath aims true
but the precision is falsely taken
a sidewinding serpent,
a riotous guerrilla in the bush,
hinging the heartland
a poem washed away in the river
as women rinse the clothes of men
singing songs of despair;
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
words breaking free
from the cloud of the mind.
the clout of the imperative telling:
this is the wind blowing from all
directions hoping to touch you
where you sleep,
rests its bone somewhere where
no cold shivers the ground,
somewhere familiar
somewhere where both you
and i have found each other
two separate birds joining
in the morning
Magdalene wears these words
melancholically
hand in glove and earth
in the mouth plump and tender
like bosoms of full women
eyes of men having their fill
of imagined sensations in the flesh
tingling forever throbbing
underneath the white moon --
until then the many loves
will read this hoping for a deliverance
the bow of my breath aims true
but the precision is falsely taken
a sidewinding serpent,
a riotous guerrilla in the bush,
hinging the heartland
a poem washed away in the river
as women rinse the clothes of men
singing songs of despair;
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