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Thursday, 10 January 2013

How the Body Approaches What it Yearns, or A Pearl


When the end was near, I remember I saw a house,
Yes, a house, as I ticked off the deaths this year.  
The house boomed above me woven in task,                         
A watercolored war I drew, artist.  
I want to know what the body knows,
How plants are trained to work for man
And the sweet, firm pressure of grasping
Where property ends.
Rising above touch mixed as batter,  
The ribbon and the rolodex, the names of the men.
What happens here spins the keys that fray
From my spine: untie me with the soft etching
Of a vapor in my torso.
Feel, I have no idea what is impossible and
I want to know what the body knows.
In an instant, yeast proves my abdomen,
Perfume washes my ribcage, and I bury you there
With your smoke and your sweat, the lungs of your face,
Until my fingertips have made a golden map of your throat.
Ring, earring, necklace, I lace around your cuffs and collars, oh
I drew this, artist, I am the lady of this house, my body
Knows I want to unfold my limbs like a telescope
To the space between your breast and your gut
And taste your waistcoat
And your beating heart,
And eat at the paint of that sketch
You made of my house.  

1 comment:

  1. Dear Lord. I hope you got that steak. Have the impression of watching this one sail down in the crown of your head and flying out of your Le Pen. This is powerful.

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