Saturday, January 25, 2014

wand animist

Wand Animist

If you go to the trouble, you'll find that
my spore print is blue.

I used to be capable of a vast and tender
love each time, some blooming daughter, then
not blue but 

perhaps still, maybe no longer.

I saw wide black space and chrome
on a screen and thought,

I prefer us as simple animals,
us worshipping our distant
star, blue

crouched beneath Perseid's,

us once were us two, so brief,
and it all seems so brief always.

I wish it weren't so that no one
will hear your poetic scream
unless it states all the right things,
be an animist grammarian
make your pain look
pretty on the clay crock

for the day when someone digs it up

it'll never happen,
we're just going to blow it up


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