Thursday, May 03, 2007

Poem for a Summer Tryst, Day 3









A Pocket of Space

Sharp tang of grapes
simmering noises of the party
float out over, swirl us on our blanket
the moon says he’ll whistle if someone’s coming
the vines clack from this sigh of a wind
I can feel every edge of you
sweet light and heavy—

I ask if you’ve every felt out of body
you say when I was kid

thought my skeleton left me
every night as soon as I snored
just opened my chest like a refrigerator
and clip clopped out of my window
down the farmer row to the pumpkin patch
to meet all the other skeletons
where’d they waltz
and pumpkin bowl some leftover bones

now tell me a lie you say
and I conspirate

there’s a place past the universe
a pocket beyond the eye of God
where I’ve cut out a curtain
that if I drape over us
we’ll step out of existence
where we are free from all wills
only we are rules there

you are a whisper

show me
and quiet
or they’ll hear us happy

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