human paraquat
Ex-Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 25, 2004
- Messages
- 1,067
tumbleweeds don't tumble,
they draw their skirts up
around their knees
and tango.
they move in ways their mothers wouldn't
and it's been that way by layers of rock
eroding and hardening,
by beaches crawling to the water's edge.
but it only took me a moment,
the first sputtering fire of mankind,
to see how you magnified grace in
an ashtray,
holding the burning end between
your fingers and smiling.
for six days we made new galaxies,
while the other planets rolled past our earth
and used our oceans as a looking glass.
then jupiter wanted to steal it from us,
that old hag.
she dipped a gaseous thumb in her
red spot and puckered her lips rose,
but i roped her to our garden's gate
and left her there.
for six days, we dropped pennies into coffee cups
dry black along the bottom,
and footlong turkey sandwiches appeared.
for six days, we ate the constellations and spat
the rinds into buttonholes.
on the seventh day, i packed my suitcase,
stuffed it with white collared shirts
and notebook paper.
i folded the mountain of you
and put it in my sock drawer,
flattening out skyscrapers with every crease.
and on that seventh night, i slept well.
i dreamt of wondrous things,
of lavender and great balls of dust,
but peeled away the bed sheets when
you belched a whale from the
other side of the world
and suddenly, i missed you.
GOD, how i missed you.
they draw their skirts up
around their knees
and tango.
they move in ways their mothers wouldn't
and it's been that way by layers of rock
eroding and hardening,
by beaches crawling to the water's edge.
but it only took me a moment,
the first sputtering fire of mankind,
to see how you magnified grace in
an ashtray,
holding the burning end between
your fingers and smiling.
for six days we made new galaxies,
while the other planets rolled past our earth
and used our oceans as a looking glass.
then jupiter wanted to steal it from us,
that old hag.
she dipped a gaseous thumb in her
red spot and puckered her lips rose,
but i roped her to our garden's gate
and left her there.
for six days, we dropped pennies into coffee cups
dry black along the bottom,
and footlong turkey sandwiches appeared.
for six days, we ate the constellations and spat
the rinds into buttonholes.
on the seventh day, i packed my suitcase,
stuffed it with white collared shirts
and notebook paper.
i folded the mountain of you
and put it in my sock drawer,
flattening out skyscrapers with every crease.
and on that seventh night, i slept well.
i dreamt of wondrous things,
of lavender and great balls of dust,
but peeled away the bed sheets when
you belched a whale from the
other side of the world
and suddenly, i missed you.
GOD, how i missed you.
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