2 Poems  

ACTS OF GOD AND OTHER MYSTERIES

 I smoke cigars now, but only once a month,
 and I no longer eat meat at all. I still carry
 my arousal around like a succulent fruit
 in a semi permeable pouch just south of my
 solar plexus, and I think of you when it rains
 like it rained today.  I don't spend much time
 binding or unbinding my hair,
 or enough time combing it
 to cause even a small thunderstorm.
 I have found myself strangely alone
 and craving lightning.

 Your going has left an emptiness
 in me bigger than my original self
 and I have denied words until
 they no longer spill down my arms.
 I write in shorthand now, disabled
 and unwilling to transcribe the details.

 Let the leaves fall. Let them say she was taken
 on a Friday, full-faced and plastered on the cover,
 no sense denying the truth.  Let them say she could twirl
 like a leaf weighted down by her stem.  "Did you see
 how she fell?"  Soft, like a Sunday paper fully folded,
 as predetermined as a morning crepe myrtle
 still loaded with dew.  Still looking for wholes,
 as vulnerable and transparent as a grape,
 let them say she was seedless, and without wings.


WHEN THE STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS
 TURNS DOWNWARD

 shoulders shoulders shoulders
 fingers twine then tighten
 soft rough touch
 to such a place
 just out of reach

 and then
 that sweeping urge to power
 down the line from hip to      knee
 the knee that gives then gives then gives
 more         higher up from hip        to knee
 one feather touch
 just out of reach
 just reaching shoulders
 chest two times

 I long to

 shoulders

 open mouth
 to knee
 this urge
 this higher up
 just so

 just
 so