Thursday, March 6, 2014

Alone With A Gun

i painted you a green picture
it had the germs of life, 
oaks stood
kittens purred
like all ancient establishments
one old man singing at night
when the city is a forest
and the forest is a city
and both of us must drown
for autumn steps in
like an auteur, to wave
at our little flags of kindred mercy
and threesome is best in the snow
and women come and go
and so does Michelangelo
all in quaint motions across your forehead
where the sun burns like aimless dots,
ambling for the salt on the shores
for the blood in the skies
thus, i painted a green picture
it was the night of the vultures
it was another jigsaw puzzle
and there was no way to tell
the lonely who die
from the dead who are lonely

and now, from town to town
my golden monsters be blessed
send me postcards from Babylon
tell me of the lion-edged maps and charts
that point at the last tram
before it wipes off the frame
and the ghosts of the mist
who smell like childhood
and taste like death
tell their tales of conquest 
to the kind Emperor
as things grow cold 
along the curves of your tiny wrists,
and the green uncertainty
and pendulums and shadows of certain cool rivers
all add up. Narrow whispers surround us. Thus, we wait.   

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