Guy Perkins

USA

GPerkLake@AOL.com

		Worship
		We who scourged you,
		who forced our wastes
		on your image,
		bang hard the liturgical gate —
					    Please	
		the sacred damp relic,
		breasts filled with
		hallowed genitalic balance,
		enough for stilled crosses,
		light without light.
	sanctus and spiritus
		We scathe our dumb skin 
		for rapture of you,
		lend spacious stems and blooms,
		kempt aromas...
	in nomine Patris
		... before excellent brute propulsion
		crash kindling-soaked importuning:
		sellers, buyers takers
		who would mystify your giving horror,
		disfigure filling prayers
		to have you wet as dripping sea.
		We sacrifice children to expect a woman.
		Our blood is ginger dust and abomination.
	Kyrie eleison, Kyrie eleison
		Gouge sustenance in weak flesh backs.
		Welcome this house to the arms of G-d
		that wholly remakes a taken wisp.
		Take our guilt.  Take it to the end
		void that washes supple forms.
	
	amen  amen

Wind

Wham!  It unweights the body.
It does,
collecting superfluous materials.
Rush again,
my dead arms in the air.
Blow through thick wet flesh.
Go ahead with fortune or sense,
and bring a job
or friend's conversation,
but most of all, blow.
Ah!  Snow fed waters:
a New Mexican Hopi perhaps foreseeing Kachina,
exhaust from Denver,
hawks, campfire, Yucca cleaned for drinking.
The western hemisphere
shares promised joy and lies
one and all with me.
Where else can madness and unmade riches
make choices?
Stand and take it freely,
pant legs and hair,
until you feel the dog
look precisely into your eyes with:
play, out.

© Copyright, 2000, Guy Perkins.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.