Sunday, April 15, 2012


What is that lily doing at my window?
It has a note tied to it by a transparent hand
Gleaming with dew.  The dead wood is drifting this way.
Love was a shotgun blast at the moon.
The blinded angels of happiness floating next to me
Tear the pages of color and music from the book
I am reading in my soul
And so it all tumbles out into a poem.
They let me take you to the fables and the opera
And we walk in a forest no bigger than your thumb
Sometimes through silence and solitude
To let some darkness in and some light out.
Why did you put me in your pocket?
Are these crumbs edible?
Great.  My fairy godmother is a crawdad.
Do you want to buckle the bell on the giant cat?
My pants have come off.  Not in a lewd way.
More like, if the neighbors want to ogle, let them.
Early summer looks a lot like it ate spring.
Poison tulips, pearl seas breathing around her neck,
Snow leopards and the white army ants—
I’m free not to solve it and to go on being it.
If a lily smashes me, I will succumb.

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