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to show a nipple, blacker
than lamp black, blacker than
the black of last nights� dream
where he threw her
into the sea faire crever
she might expire from the heat
both of them lobsters in the pot
who rise like Lazarus
semi-erect against
an immense lyre william tell
shoots sea urchins from
our heads watches melting
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 Strange Bedfellows |
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After monstrous and cruel things
Oscar Wilde imagines tulips
������brushing his ankles.
Lilies-of-the-valley brush hers �
���in this green hour a flower
short in stature whose pervading perfume
�����rises from the deep dark dirt
����������they bed down upon.
Oscar Wilde imagines tulips
������brushing his ankles �
their panther faces, eager and upturned
���������������crawling into his arms
from a white cemetery on the first
����affectionate day of spring.
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PJ Nights  |
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