In the coffee morning sun light
her nose ring hovers
as a golden moment of indecision
a post-nasal drip of defiance

Too small to be an instrument of guidance
by some farm management lover

this drop of frozen light will never thaw
nor slip across the horizon
to be transformed into another part of day

Though occasionally when her mood is clouded
and she turns away from this artful circle of self

she breathes through her mouth open, slack

and loses that now hint of silver
and slight sibilant whisper from the ordinary god

who pierces her thoughts

Anais

The slender one who has come upon
her beauty so lately
just removed her ring

This is no slow gesture for quick eyes



The French girl bled from her mouth
as she left the room
waving the torn flag of her lip
betraying unconscious sensuality

I trace the mark of her rivering pain
red across the map of her youth

pretend the chart surrenders no mystery
but we know the truth of such adventure

The exposed calf
rounded, certain blossoming
topology of a sweater,
and dark kerchief

tied around her mother's warning
against cinematic nymphomania

A movie has given her this new identity
but she had not read Miller

though she will by the time she graduates
some June



My question is larger than cinemascope
grander than the canyon of film
that separates us

I stand behind the lens of my remembering

measuring love by the equation of millimeters
and casting couches

My question goes begging for some warm coin of knowledge
to flip against the cold stone of lost virtue

Her answer drips from her mouth
in sanguine inappropriateness
and the dangerous notion

that a kiss cannot draw blood



How long must I stand within the shadow
of that sullen gallows' list of ancient lovers

some now just bones
while others still rot at the end of their respective ropes
like so much emotional carrion
that even the birds have tired of feeding

It did not feel like I was
the one who was killing them

because that effortless sport of heart we played
was so much like a game of chance
with such endless musical laughter
that we forgot to read the final credits

Who knew the dice would be made of bone?



So now it hurts again

and once again I stumble into this season of pain
that no almanac can accurately predict

prepared to harvest this new acre of uncertainty
irrigated by wet eyes

so sure this crop would
rescue my heart from the bank

But the truth is
there are no futures in winter wheat

and this time
I cannot afford to wait for spring



The moment hums a song with such changeable lyrics
that no one has bothered to learn them

and no one takes the time
to remember its original meter

I would keep time by tracing the pulse in my wrist
but this finger is a knife

Instead I jam my fists into pockets

and accidently cut off my one hope



So I will lick the blood from your
teenage lip

slip his ring back on your slender finger

find some suitable sacrifice that will right the world
and wrong no one in the process

And though this is a dream
I will not sleep until it is over

and when I finally do close my eyes
the rest of you can breakfast on my morning