Sunday, November 08, 2009

Into a Fold 

Of dick skin, I pressed a murmur and 
imagined a big pearl.
Alive and warm in my hand
And then into the passage of throat. 
Gloating, it swam.

A December passed over me like jetsam and rockets.  
Armada of nimbus and space ships, 
they came and lifted my big pearl.

Pearl of all the ocean.
Pearl of the Gulf and the Nueces and 
the arroyo just east of the Courts where I come
to remember things.  

His ear wasn’t there but he could hear me.
From my toes that grabbed at planks of flooring--
vibrations, an echo, a shoe marooned at the 
far end of the room.  

Sitting on his belly, I rock.  
I, too, can give pearls,
Which I do:  a messy string of them encased in 
Chest hair and cachete.  

I pant.  I squat.  I feign I would 
Not miss the man or my pearl.
A melody.  I dug for one that I could hum or 
tap or suck on and that would occupy me 

For the night.  Toothless giggle.  
Stare at the tangle of pearls in my palm.  
Smug ruthless crinkle of it:  
inhabitable, drying.  

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