Poem (untitled)all my lovers lie in fields I do not mow;the edge of my earth's interest hedges me, and sets me on an emperor's march. i'm saddled in this steadfast champing at the bit that bridles me, I chafe against a hundred ponies' mouths, nuzzling mouths with symphonies of known seductions; sugar cubes between wet copper thighs, trembling tartan lifted as a rallying flag, a bold assault, a secret handshake, and salute, the day does not decode. but i refuse what yesterday i loved, the stars in my eyes, stripes on my back, speak louder than the other anthems i have pledged my pale allegiance to. if i kiss misgivings, like a rebel flagpole, know, please know, my josephine, i am alone, and lonely, i have lit your scarlet candle in the triage of a white house, counting lovers in a long dim hallway, singing healing incantations that could raise the dead, though the dead stay still; i slay importune as they steal to medicine intended for your pouting lips, your murdered ground. and even jesus christ must close his eyes to vanishing points grown sharp and clear beneath a hundred losses, and my prayer. |
Banner graphic source: photograph (2008) by Jorge Royan of the Old Jewish Cemetery in Josefov, Prague. CC BY-SA 3.0.
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