Saturday, March 10, 2007

From "thirsty poems"

illicit substances, mostly liquids

moth balls, naphtha, semen
milk and sesame oil

stuff that issues from the husk of strange fruit
binding, blunting, strings into madagascar
it has pulp, your lips are its stains
it has pith and there must be passion
in it somewhere

grappa, chalky deposit, cheese
milk, sesame oil and olive oil

in the past there is still spittle, a tongue from which
you, drinking down straws in finland
gingham has exhausted into
stripes fading into white
water must be it—

sap, bone marrow, lsd
milk, sesame and olive oil, balsamic vinegar

stumbling in and into the “barn” of memory; pulses in a sack. light, and polish. we get free of dust. shivering. shaking. no rattle snake sighs. whatever there is it is and it is spilling. all over us and sticking. we find it on our foreheads. it finds us and our lips do. lentils, beans and split peas. you think we are dry in the sea. I feel you wet in the warm. dry slipping from us. sand.

plastic, glass, soil
milk, vinaigrette. this papery pulp is...
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