Saturday, January 25, 2014

Allowed to be Mysteries

Allowed to be Mysteries

People are allowed to be mysteries. Allowed to be mysteries:
kelp forests, clear salt-green cellulose and luminous,
women with their arms around dogs,

women with eyes containing multitudes.
Women with eyes containing:

languorous jimson weed, hemlock-foxglove-hyacinth
oleander larkspur, (deliriants, deliriously free,)
daphne and nightshade

irregular heartbeat scavengers.

People are allowed to be
largely inscrutable:

I read somewhere that datura is a beautiful woman,
that the stinging, hot ice of her irises-

well, her eyes are the color of irises,
and she knows her way around the sort of
labyrinthine bramble

that settles in my rib like a bone knife.

And I have been crippled by love of this craggy
pharaoh for several histories now:

consult the Luxor papyrus.

I store the shake of young hope in my pelvis
and wavering thighs,

having thought once that I knew a lot,
when all that I don't know is a palmy and
loving expanse of good ground.

These days of gentle fractals
are allowed to be mysteries.

I drum them out on my collarbone
like a line of lapis beads.

Lying upside-down, the days look
just like elementals. The nights

look just like crane flies  

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