incessant, you stir it. Hard crystals
dissolve,
handfuls of blazing white
go milky and soft,
hot blue lips lovingly kiss and sing radiantly under
your copper.
Your ping hammered kettle turns solid
to liquid.
Melting chains
form as you work
the Rosary {Sotto
Voce} Queen of
Heaven
The Mysteries Joy & Pain
slowly added,
washing down gems, precious blessings
And the turmoil slows, bubbles slack and link,
dragging like school-less summer days, shoe-less
in hot amber. Sticking all the little tics,
once thrown high as branches, hair whips
rain sheets and lung-lust cries,
click clipped as
errant bugs and bees.
You are on the fault line. Plates
are shifting.
Under the sweet bunch grass, a Vireo gray and small,
secretive you whistle then listen.
The colors change The desert painted
Tongues of flame
waver in your wild white eyes:
You hold
Waiting waiting
suspended
Pinching the grain
The salt
The pink rose
Essential
The tiny blade
The straw
The stone
You drop
A poem I wrote for Dena Rash Guzman a few years back in the MySpace days, when she dropped off the scene in one of her many online persona reassignments.
ReplyDeleteThe original post was a series of short lines of three or four words.
I'm not totally happy with the reformatting here and I still feel that I'm in an editing phase on this one. I generally don't like busy formats (and most definitely don't like parentheses, haha!). I feel that the words should speak on their own without any funny business. So, any input on that would be helpful. Thanks!