FOLLOWED BY
APPARENT GOLD
Looking into a fogged-up mirror, a wet life
rolls me by. I am seeing things I recognize,
only dimly, and outlived only in haze. This
early in Springtime fissure; the maple trees
are opening their bat-wing like baby leafs,
spreading wet and gently, opening wide their
Summer pleasures. I am thinking what to say
as, beneath me, the girl writhes and wriggles -
you can figure out the rest, and it's more than
punctuation. She may be coming. It feels like it,
the tightening, the heave, the release; that thrash
of muscle, clutching me. Like Jesus, I have entered
a tomb I am now already leaving.
APPARENT GOLD
Looking into a fogged-up mirror, a wet life
rolls me by. I am seeing things I recognize,
only dimly, and outlived only in haze. This
early in Springtime fissure; the maple trees
are opening their bat-wing like baby leafs,
spreading wet and gently, opening wide their
Summer pleasures. I am thinking what to say
as, beneath me, the girl writhes and wriggles -
you can figure out the rest, and it's more than
punctuation. She may be coming. It feels like it,
the tightening, the heave, the release; that thrash
of muscle, clutching me. Like Jesus, I have entered
a tomb I am now already leaving.
No comments:
Post a Comment