>> Thursday, November 29, 2007
Like the sky, pale as linen
I wish to hang low over horizon
and meet the blackened earth,
or like the setting sun
I want to dip lower and lower,
turning the western sky copper and gold
as shadows lengthen across the ground
creeping out, like grotesque monsters.
I’m looking out for that first person,
who wouldn’t notice my bruises and contusions,
and won’t appear the least bit tempted
to inquire after my puffy lip.
I’ll be the sparkling blend, of fortified beer and wine,
to be enjoyed in measured sips, and when you say
you want only a taste, you would have just that; in fact.
Risk is a wonderful stimulus
you can cruise around me,
this tender picture in it’s petrified frame
and have a kind of grip on it,
visually anyway, for if you trip
it is too complicated.
Expecting something within me
to break or bloom, I feel so holy.
This is how; reality punishes you for innocence
it turned me into, a crustacean.