2 Poems  

The Cambridge Cuckold

 

 Become the Cambridge Cuckold,
 the mean water murmurs green.
 I mean, my chastity wants to come there broken
 on little pencil feet.

 I am here again, Professor Cupboard;
 keep me safe inside you.
 Cup me in your palm like chalk,
 kiss me in the cold river of neckties.
 Check me, cheek by cheek
 behind an oak closet,
 each door closes, solid as a pen click,
 open calligraphy of my legs.

 Ladle your love like salted broth
 on my tongue and have me swallow,
 squawk a baby Robin song,
 and I am small inside you again,
 your breath falls out in puffs of frosted ivy.
 I veil my eyes; now you will not quite see
 my excuses ring so clear
 in the corners of gathered sleep.

 Dab me dry as a Lily
 as you grasp me up from the earth—
 let me float in mossy water.
 Give me to the Coi for shade.
 I am a picture frame
 carved from delicate finger bone;
 fill me with something
 that sounds like rain drops on paper.


Just Nod, Diane




 I cannot tell you, you know
 how the roses are hippy and nod
 with drink
 where the gutter rusts a small grin

 how the roses are hippy and nod
 rain and rust tonic
 to the meter-maids lunching on sandwich
 small and pleasant teeth blooming lettuce

 rain and rust tonic
 tongue tastes of penny and aerated soil
 sidewalk sodden in gold leaf slippers
 I am satisfied

 tongue tastes of penny and aerated soil
 it seeps to a guttural "O," you know
 how the day is an esophagus you slip down
 how you try not to struggle too much

 it seeps to a guttural "O," you know
 the trees feather out in your eyes
 lash themselves swiftly to sleep
 beat my windows blind, you see

 the trees feather out in your eyes
 and brush you
 clean in ultra-violet showers
 I said, you blink and the steam changes seasons

 how the roses are hippy and nod
 I cannot tell you, you know
 small and pleasant teeth blooming lettuce
 I cannot tell you, you know