Newest Gem
Oh funny duchess; dearest inner me…
You/I, the silliest immorality box:
See how like soft, fine lesions are his kisses,
one or two still here outside, dressing my skin
like rosebuds or eagles; gently placed tattoos.
Sterling feelings, like pure silver, real,
adorn me too, the internal jewelry.
He doesn't look like a god
or any other old fashioned idol,
he holds a look all markazite and sapphire
while I wear him on me well.
falling down to the bed
the both of us, like purgatory,
then rising up like favorite European kings.
The last sweer night we node on
is gone like the tide-like pumping of your heart,
but the sun is back, my liebe,
like a diamond;
we should chase its brilliance and wrap it
round our eyes, for a while,
and dodge the clouds would tight around my legs.
How good this is:
I am carried off by the rubiest of mouths
which warms that old cripple
my dehydrated heart.
The State
(for Alice Walker)
That poverty
In America almost always Black
and torn from the also darkest soil
like an unwilling, yellowing root
of the dryest land
of the sticky mouths swollen from poor sores
and a father's riddled fist.
There, children
in muted cry and urine stained jeans
There are
apples, at last
at christmas and there are from the slovenly core
the tiniest bitter seeds to plant
and hotter days to sit and watch them pretend to grow
Little does
like even the stronger unheard of their
children.
Post Birthday Wishes
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