Three Poems

Evening Gag Hate set you back like a thin silver dial. The doctor squeezed your palms, and your hairy smile Took its time outside the elements. Our steps are quiet, shrinking your departure. Old painting. In a warm lyceum, your textiled self Glows for our danger. We sit square clear as windows. I’m something less than your father The mountain that stains a chalkboard to reflect its own fast Escarpment at the water's toes. All day your butterfly eyes Stay bright among the sharp red tulips. I sleep to see: A near valley sits on my tongue. Two whispers, and I run from bed, horse-light and rooted In my paisley shirt. Your lips close crooked as a giraffe’s. The ceiling, flat Darkens and pours out its bright moonshapes. And then you try Your gallon of numbers; The opaque consonants fall like globes.   Remember the Pueblo Strive at left, for instance, avoid the loud and aggressive in sudden misfortune, with whatever your labours persons strive for high life they too have their story and everywhere life is your soul fall not into a good time they are vexations know what to kiss for always the world is full of aspirations, compare yourself with others it may be your lot, but do not keep peace with your love.   A Cockatoo After a rug mingle, that old catastrophe, The joyful loss of an hour on a Sunday afternoon, A puzzle hammered into bleeding cardboard To make no perfect picture, only an image, Now it is to living room darkness with sleep Brought to us by Mercury on extended wings. Seas of complacencies abound and we raft to stay Free from drowning through our suburban distrust, The memory of previous undulations sufficient— We float in dry disgust, crumpled into sawdust. Downward in the kitchen are coffee and oranges, She rises and abandons the placental afterglow to me, Having dreamed a small casual flock of dreams, There is now an embroidered cloth to cover the body And slip a sunny tag on the bottom of my big toe. Her ancient sacrifice complete, she showers away, I break out from the imperial Persian background To the sound of her unambiguous holy hush around me. Still naked, I sit on a nearby chair and dissipate, On the vacant leather throne, a horseless chariot awaits.