Portrait of a snowy hill
All the flowers on all the hills are seared white with snow.
Their softness hardened by cold,
As breasts standing tall,
Breasts touched by a hand, raw and shivering.
A real hand,
Sharpened by air,
Not a warm bedtime hand of memory.
And I thought of you,
Telling her you loved her because
The snow fall was like the sky spewing forth the love it could not hold.
And the coldness sets deeper in my heart
And the coldness takes the easiness out of my breathing.
And the coldness makes my breasts stand hard like flowers.
a bit of death
Your restless heart is bound to brood
For the ribs arc runs stiff for keeping.
And the dirt builds up beneath your nails
For in the ground’s grip you murder sleep.
And as the mud cools in wettened hollows
You go sliding a little farther into the forest.
Go to the bits of brain that duck from light
Mind punctures lined in spider knitted thread
There the flies come buzzing one by one
To your god forbidden wish for death
And you will sink into the puddle cold
You will grab the ground for comfort
Till the river’s upstream laugh calls quiet
And you will swim and tire and float
Amongst the rocking reeds spitting stones
Weeping willows welcome home.