Symphony

I am walking—
feet saturated
neck bent on pavement slabs
eyes glistened are hungry

Orchestra under scalp follows 5 conductors
street cars laced in wire
fumbling knees collect knobs and grease
taste of blood, rising

Mist permits a fruitful sigh
veiled thin, a ray of light
harp within guides my step upwards
I aim to fly—

Chiseled chin father engulfs
the shoulders of daughter
and alone at my cafe table
tears form an ocean under skin

The child’s atomic energy, bouncing coals
father a rushing stream
with ease empties into the mouth
of her smile
wet with the water of angels
not a trace of blood

28 years old—
lover removed from my sides like a lung
panting though seated still
the image planted like a willow
a father and daughter, their feet smoldered
branches sway beneath the shade

Steamed milk beckons like a whisper
smoky embrace, the expanse of window
a leaking faucet sounds the bath
this room massages
all the strangers naked

There is laughter
outside
whose arms will capture
I carry my own towel and it’s always damp
I’m in love with this
travailed autumn

Treetops of orange with rusted rims
leave gray traces, the mattress above
and within the maze of
moistened barracks
I slide along as a blur of lips
picking up chips in the gums

I gait for days
atop benches of vagrant legs
mounds of snoring skulls
glass castles, the youth within
walloping a punch of crotch fire

I amble onward over beyond yonder
til roofs wane unto yellow prairie
til cried tongue can think no more
and stooped like a burning bush
I await the rain

My roots are tender
sap a honey milk
I open my bowels and tempt
a band of gazelles
to prance around my corpse
I am fading, steam from a sewer
on a wet wintry road—

Awakening—Oh!
by the clank of a swing door
brown lady enters like blows of a river
plunging music to the silent banks
and suddenly I realize myself astute
before the human dance

Boot-tips beat against hardwood drums
violins mingle with conversation above
limbs cross-legged, the prospered and misfits
trombones war with lesser horns

The swing door clanks and opens the valve of life!

I am growing into you—
balloons on the brink of eruption
starry moons on wings of desire
We are becoming
the smallest lights in the sky
at once cratered, marred, and uniform—

I am walking—
my nose reddened
tongue lapping above the floor

The next time that door opens
I’m gonna run

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