- Zazie's Acreage
Gifts Cannot Be Given Consciously
hair a fainting tree
with blue veronica
the butter dream of Spring, we kiss
badge melting in the inner lid
from a fallen insect wing.
the laurels and the humble pine
loathsome fellets of hot sprung glances
we practice the edges:
in a forest thinking of trees
the tindering mist, the patron’s small torch
the 3 frightened guards to paint them red.
the dog’s green shadow falls
the passing diamond
measures the shadow
an embrace which smears, slightly milky to the ear
indistinguishable from the pruner
the hedges of mesmeric tapping out hallooos….
nature is our collaborative divagation
in a clearing, late in the war, still breathing.
rumors evolve from the pretty dresses
the leaves violated by their own forest
lulled into the nympharmaecia
I long for the white arm of sleep
build a nest within, to bore within
heart-cartilage blaze of your limbs
which can only snake away
the police X-ray and/or Andromeda
so we practice the edges:
- trees in a forest thinking of trees.
THE SUN IS SETTING, TIME TO GO BACK HOME