No it was a cheap picnic
Like taking a short sip of
a thick book
For instance reading in Moby Dick
Only the chapter on the
whiteness of the whale
And even then skipping
whole paragraphs
Just to say you got through
it
Yes I unzipped the flowers
Only minutes before you
arrived
So you’d see their open
hearts
Beating shyly through
Persian blinds
As you hesitated at the
window
Deciding whether to knock
No I believe vistas out
this window
Are parts of speech all
tangled up
Not in the memory of a
lost map
But in horizons of two-bit
proverbs
Misplaced in the dim light
let down
Into darkness into quiet
water
Yes I really don’t know
that I’m inclined
To talk about that any
more right now
After all it’s likely snowing
somewhere
That Paul Eluard and I
once tossed
Love’s dice while arguing
the delicate
Problem of the firefly and
that bastard
Won the game so I wrote
you innumerable
Unsent letters amusing my
dorm room
No the skin all dressed up
is as you say
A sort of abomination sure
that’s true
But what about the simple
apple
Fluent in the secret
language of color
Whose skin flames minty French
green
Duck egg blue chartreuse
avocado
Goldenrod sunflower dried
blood
Mahogany amber saffron
yellow bird shit?
Yes I suppose the tuning
fork vibrates
Indefinitely when a
thirsty soul cuts
Time in half like a ruby
grapefruit
Thick pink juice dripping
throatward
Which whenever I see it
always makes me
Feel like a small
fictional nincompoop
No my otherworldly
architectural angel
I dance in a shower of
warm music
On the dubious roof you
built playing
Four open notes on my
resonant mouth harp
Your body an unknown woman
in the air
Beside me as we enter your
stigmatized
Attic throwing off the
rain impatiently
Yes we run away perilously
with our life
Wearing each other’s
clothes as we kiss
Our open palms goodbye one
at a time
All thirty-five of them the
way the dead
Play the piano without
hands without sound
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