In the
region
of love’s
disease,
processional
with ghosts
and furies,
there is
a wall
to shadow
each fox,
sliding
through valerian,
evading
the rupture
of staggered
commands, pounced
half-
human
upon the
movement of
some innocent’s
shoulder blades,
haunting the copse
to haven.
Vile jelly
the birds
pick over,
poor
trashy
thing.
In the region
of love
(a little south
of Claudette,
far, far west
of the Pechorine
plateau).
A sudden surfacing
of green eyes
and mouth
of cuneiform
rose,
through cloaks
and dablets
of headdressed
foam,
lyric chaos
of curled
gold.
The adulteries
and crafty
luxuries
of philatelic
Venus, a
voluptuary’s
white desire.
Complex
as a cocktail
of juice
and blood,
a grain
of salt molests
the tongue,
aspirant
with fruit,
with meat
and pulp.
Forked or
quartered,
the pilaf
of lust
and appetite,
specific nudities
milked and
trenched
in ivory
waters, sperm
gleaming when caught
with light.
Betrayed
to a
millionaire
of flowers,
bound minuet
of rude linen,
watery wine.
From sleep’s
blue room,
dozy with
feverish measures,
the balconies are
green and flagrant
yellow,
white with bodies
and death’s mute
music.
Temperate
masque
of humor,
vowels trouble
tongue’s tripped
eloquence, love an
exchange of
sweat and nouns,
phlegm of
approved desire.
Sleepy-
head,
Ganymede,
puberty’s sopped kitten.
Tyrant sunflowers
roar
a yellow dismissal
of the ridden
curtains, the Italianate
waters.
Aging
architect
emits ink’s senescence
in miniature cities,
drifting to faberges
of stunted opulence,
echoed canyons
of sparkling disaster.
The imagined
children float,
free above the
Claudine
hills,
above the splendid,
patient pools.
Goddess of the
hidden wall,
protectress of maniac
seasons, her glory
the flat numbers
of virtue.
Venus is perverse.
In your mirror,
lovely lizard,
cannonades
of irritable beauty
drown,
remarking your
disfigured
gestures. Intact seductress,
weaving ashen
to the
stage,
formidable, contrite,
ridiculous and
sexy
as Medusa,
pious
in your pose
of fallen
combat.
Call it love,
this murder.
Terrier
prick
of
love.
Lamenting the elephants
their mild
gastritis
and foreign adventures,
seed seeps
the filter of
a girl’s
kilt.
Under-
wing,
the
speech-
less
thrusting,
blind descent to
carnal blue,
gentled
to lagoons,
each city
opening its
own moonlit
heart.
De-
intellect-
ualize
me,
Venus.
Forgive
those malicious
turns and
burning words,
anger
padded, bubbled,
like scorpions
in cotton
wool.
Oiled dancers
gleam
through lattices,
light jets
through
the punctured
frames, anatomies
of mapped skin.
The terrain
is white
with pillowing
fog,
the doll’s
ceramic cheek
grazed with unnerving
mist.
A scene
of minor
retribution
is played out
in distracted
caresses,
the clashing
of monotonous seas,
idle shuffling
of fossils, the
promise of a shattering
of seashells.
Sad with goats
and chilblains
and the seductions
which cold weather
once allowed.
The world
is harsh
with forgiveness,
the mean generosity
of easy perfection.
It is the sin
that lives
and lets live,
winking
at forbidden, remembered
joys.
Her hair
is sweet with
nectar, the wild
honeysuckle crushed
between her
collar
and her
skin.
As he leans
above
her, her
gaze is wide
with the
expected,
of guidance
to some particular loss.
The quarrelling
trees
rain down
their hair
to confuse
and mask
the indentations
in the moss.
Of back,
and knees,
and pressing
sudden fingers,
the heels
of her
flung, impatient
shoes.