2 Poems  

Amorous Morsels

Come in my mouth,
He said
(my heart like a starling beating against a window) 
His face beneath me
I became liquid
gave birth to a new universe
hot milk poured from me
I saw a river behind eyes rolled back in my head
A kiss so deep I slaver
my skin loosens and peels back
like the skin
of a well-cooked pheasant.
I am boiled 
I am a boiled bird,
boiled meat, flesh 
loosening and floating away in the bubbling water
the boiling water
of your palms on my hips
the boiling heat of your mouth drinking me
deeply, drinking
and me, floating away.



Spring
 

(again) and as usual it hurts...
Flowers 
like the mouths of dangerous children.
The wind is cold and too tired
of itself to be bitter. The stench 
of drowning earthworms fills wet streets. Hands 
and feet and foreheads are white and
stupid with cold and wet and mud. 
Inside the hospital
a white dwarf
(the dying 
woman)
stretches up from her pillow
to whisper 
stories about 
making and selling
paper flowers
"when I was a goil."
Tiny Indian girls flow 
out of the thunderbird.
Lime and teal
satinslashpolyester frocks foaming 
at the sleeves and hems with plastic lace.
They are made up like movie 
stars, Egyptian eyed.
Into the one-hour photo studio
with the cracked pane,
they flower 
sidestepping the cloud reflecting puddles
not even giggling, 
holding their breaths, lifting 
shiny shoes 
like dainty deer hooves,
their ankle socks
flashing 
like 
the breath of 
stars.