Tuesday, March 06, 2007

1:1

MY MOCK-SCALE DREAM

In my neoprene monster skin, in my faux city
stormy with hellfire, in my broken
down dollhouse, in my tiny bed
that sleeps my toe, in my souvenir
sombrero, in that that noontime shade
badly needed, in my die-cast
Corvette, cherry red, sun bright, comet
fast, in that shrunken hour
I cannot hold on to, in that dwindled dawn,
beneath that ancient sapling,
beneath that cobbled sky,
beneath those wheeling stars,
addled by light, always light, let me go,
allow me the democratic
darkness, and my pillow
over my morning face,
give me that, give me your face,
whoever you are, forever perfected stranger,
your skin, and my skin,
my monstrous skin,
my time by the river
tiresomely returned to
and the slurry of water going by no music at all,
before all things immense,
before that water
like night, in which I dropped
my watch or was it
a smooth stone
warm from my hand or the sun’s adumbrations
or nothing at all,
that hunger you tried
to cure, now, at last,
I am saying directly this painful, pained thing,
I am saying it will not last,
my fist for my mouth
plugging up
this hole, this endless, this always, this never.

2 comments:

Diane K. Martin said...

V. nice poem.

Anonymous said...

holy moly!