To That

inch of time spent over the sea,

dragging your dead body back
from the sharks I fed you to.

There should be enough salt
to drown in. Now that is something
you don’t hear of!
But, I have heard of Buddha,
and Ghandi,
and what great advice for the
blonde girls in white dresses,
not scratched by hands of
light drinking, or hard gunfire;
the girls untouched by
living a dead life, waking under floorboards
built by their mothers.

Your heavy photograph burns to
my tongue. I spit. I curse you out
of your newly dried grave.
I am ecstatic for your corpse,
it grows on me like tough leather.

Now for her.
I carry a monsoon to her driveway.
She is lit up. A bright pumpkin
ripened for plummet.
She dresses in honeysuckle,
and flickers like whiskey.
I haven’t thought of her name,
she is black as a canvas; a new galaxy
before energy matters.
If her heart happens to
do that, I will carve it out.

I will take it back to July in my teeth
where the desert is waiting for me,
it’s Queen.

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5 thoughts on “To That

  1. Pingback: To 25 Followers! | PopcornandJellybeans

  2. Maggie Mae….

    I usually don’t repeat stuff, but, ditto what Paul said, above… You’re getting even sharper… I’m going to borrow this one for tomorrow;s poetry section, if you have no objection…. I’ll include a link to here, so all my readers know of you….

    gigoid

  3. Pingback: A slight limp is more noticeable…. | gigoid

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