Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Strata


I was devastated by the radio song. 
I felt it unbuckle me right down to my heart strings.
Right down to my panties, 

(oh-no-yes.)

I felt you unbuckle me right down to my 
strange flute, right down to my 
crumpled curly head against a hot chest, 

tell me a little more about the scenery. 

Tell me a little more about your fishing pole. 

As far as the farm goes, I'm confused.
I don't know if my uncle's ghost is brandishing his rifle 
or asleep on the couch, with his tobacco pouch
hanging out his plaid pocket.

Tell me a little more about 

your heart's hammering like a warhorse.

I think I understand the beat
incessant, 

against my low valley sternum

like hoof on sod on lithosphere, 

It's so scary to be alive at all, 
with all the bounty and the freefall. 

I like the reprieve:
the cave of your mouth, 

the dominion of lodgepole pine 
and blue-eyed grass,

I like finding myself with you, balanced 
on that sweet strata, 

environmental phenomenon, you say: 
and everything affecting everything 

right down to the eventual plummet, 
the panty drop, the quaking exhale, 
the opening palm of time

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