...
that night -hurried bedtime
left a slash in the curtain
....
there stars held shining
at the spinning of all things
...
bundled in argumentative rush
...
some nights I would pull the stars in tight -
chin warm - purple snug - shimmer
psalms in comfort - and some nights
cold dread closed in from within and without
then those calm songs of yore carressened not
but tied knots at my neck - bound my ribs -
gripped wrists - only my eyes held free to roam
from left to right - from down to up
and some times when the curtains stayed partened
a shooting star would streak in hope
....
the angel was not large
not church window size
yet it's illumination dazzled
at mt frightened sense
in the choir of coming
it reached to me
and gave in what it took
....
I saw the anger rise
at the notion - that we -
as poets - should be
petite - as we are -
our each own neruda
yet love is expressed
in altered forms - beyond the slogan -
it may not attract
but sure it packs a punch
so on clench your parody fist
of separate unity
and it out in kinkindway
- for fraternity - beyond
....
peace:)
The Blue Book
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