A deaf green ledge
can please immensity
in nature or in you.
And your hard Queen
whose tears are kept
in preening reliquaries,
has She had enough fresh grooms
paddling through? I love
algae shivering loose
under the surface,
or are those dreams?
It pleases me, the serpentine
movement of tongues,
their erotic glissade
even at funerals, under wars.
Tongues always breathe underwater.
Hold me under a little longer
until the rest of me can do it too.
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2 comments:
you have such a way of bringing me to pine!
Hiya Rachel!
Yeah, poets = pine nuts.
But pine nuts are one of the things which separate a good restaurant from a great restaurant, right?
And Sappho...I think she gave us our pining license.
That would be fun to have in a wallet...a Pining License. Laminated and all.
So let's keep doing it.
We pine nuts, I mean.
You've been writing killer good stuff lately...yours is one of my favorite studio blogs.
I feel very fortunate to know a bunch of poets writing great work on a daily basis and being able to visit.
It satisfies my desire for "gallery visiting" and yet keeps my renascent agoraphobia feelin safe.
Between you and Scott and Peter and others (marcus slease wowed me this afternoon) it's good reads.
It is the milk for free, to quote Brooklyn Copeland, but I suppose we're being kind bovines lol.
I suddenly feel like lactating.
Not a pretty picture. Soz.
Your one photo got into the middle of this poem...although the rest of the poem is about my own ridiculous pine nuts.
xo
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