In Riverside
The Shepard leads his shaggy flock
barefoot through the sticky halls
of a Greyhound station.
Frying hard on acid, they know
he is the messiah in medusa curls,
who my sister married
to play house,
bore his daughter, golden too,
but something dark
caught her heel
and rode into the world.
Dyes her hair black
picks her nose
in strangers' faces.
Sneaking out
2 am
cat's paw quiet
the sleeping house
orange blossoms
abandoned groves
gathering in tight knots
moon silvered, leaf thick trees
the weakest light
still casts a shadow
I want to say that it isn't
all-dark in Riverside:
Once I tripped and fell
a black dog leapt on my chest
sucking the breathe from my mouth.
Subject to dark thoughts
cravings for absence, as a child
I provoked the others
up all night plotting
my corruption. Like gray pigeons
they pecked my eyes
till I could see. This old gray house
scarred wood floors
wavery -glass windows,
there's a room in the back,
behind an elusive door
I only stumble on in dreams.
Nearly empty now
dusty from misuse,
window views wide and clear:
companionably smoking
peeling golden fruit.
Juices run down
chins, between fingers.
Moon-lit early mornings,
kisses, sweet oranges.
Limber tongues slide
smooth and slow in and out
through lover's teeth.
Sometimes it's only joy
That moves me, breathless
and wanting to lie back down
and sleep.
The Shepard leads his shaggy flock
barefoot through the sticky halls
of a Greyhound station.
Frying hard on acid, they know
he is the messiah in medusa curls,
who my sister married
to play house,
bore his daughter, golden too,
but something dark
caught her heel
and rode into the world.
Dyes her hair black
picks her nose
in strangers' faces.
Sneaking out
2 am
cat's paw quiet
the sleeping house
orange blossoms
abandoned groves
gathering in tight knots
moon silvered, leaf thick trees
the weakest light
still casts a shadow
I want to say that it isn't
all-dark in Riverside:
Once I tripped and fell
a black dog leapt on my chest
sucking the breathe from my mouth.
Subject to dark thoughts
cravings for absence, as a child
I provoked the others
up all night plotting
my corruption. Like gray pigeons
they pecked my eyes
till I could see. This old gray house
scarred wood floors
wavery -glass windows,
there's a room in the back,
behind an elusive door
I only stumble on in dreams.
Nearly empty now
dusty from misuse,
window views wide and clear:
companionably smoking
peeling golden fruit.
Juices run down
chins, between fingers.
Moon-lit early mornings,
kisses, sweet oranges.
Limber tongues slide
smooth and slow in and out
through lover's teeth.
Sometimes it's only joy
That moves me, breathless
and wanting to lie back down
and sleep.
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