I felt over the scribbling on your eyes
Like any impulsive angel briskly
tarrying through dark alleys
would sink in a pothole.
I live in a stock room of fancies;
Wine red and wild-
The stalks and stems
The leaves and petals
Spring out of a three-fold vase,
down the valley
Where Christable meets an enigmatic horse…
The horse be you
The stalks and petals be you
And all that I scream out, be you
a l p h a b e t i c a l l y
dream by dream
white by white
all that makes me grow wider for you…
tucking those eyelids
where you suppose me around
will that help to ward me off?
I couch in your fancy and
meal does not suffice
The tender intestine can’t resist
The feel of your eyes
I await your glimpse
across the men’s loo, in the backseat
of the bus that tussles us through
to a tower packed in glass
windows and glossy masks…
I wait wherever
I cannot meet you…
I wonder if you are a poet
And fishing me through
a sieve
That drips maple-syrup …
And the hotdog in your plate
is not for you but me…
