I love your Spanish talk.
\nThe soft ground around you
\nHovers as you walk.
\nChinese flowers grow out of me
\nlike dreams lifted under a bed
\nof yellow Lantana and grapewood rosevine.
\nMidnight and a sleep walking Sun
\ndip its claws into the milky Moon.<\/p>\n
She blows a serenade and makes a note in her diary: March 14th;
\nOr was it the other day when we played through the woods in the synagogue’s court?
\nI kept my diary clear
\nwith liquor? hidden there.<\/p>\n
All those cars have resisted, and those children inside us have died,
\nbut the moist oil still grasps at the roots of the darkened cells.
\n(It’s old, and the unmarried couple inside still snuggle closely to the foot of her screaming limb.)<\/p>\n
Once a bold, minted Moon?struck the head like a bell and turned us red,
\nAnd the merry men of the next town whistled “Dixie” all the way down
\nto the smoothed River’s bed.<\/p>\n
A maestro, that dark little secret, always dancing and standing still.
\n(She, seh, was the dear. May we call you dear? Take our collective blue beard hand.)<\/p>\n
Governor rubs the chocolate chip lips of white faces that read: “never washed hair.”
\nSteers calling sisters for dates and the narrow alley was our field with its
\none chilling little blade.<\/p>\n
All the sorcerers were baked
\nInside a street lit with humiliating desire.
\nThat moment never turned or backed up when the future,
\nblinded, uncaring, unknowingly,
\ndecided to run us over.<\/p>\n
Someday they will tell me she still lives there,
\nevery soaked board still crying, trying to pull out the rusty nails
\nof the last conversation made,
\nand yet, still, even with all the talk,
\nThat she is never at home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I love your Spanish talk. The soft ground around you Hovers as you walk. Chinese flowers grow out of me like dreams lifted under a bed of yellow Lantana and grapewood rosevine. Midnight and a sleep walking Sun dip its … Continue reading