Thursday, June 16, 2005

new poem: my pleasures are not illicit

My pleasures are not illicit.

They run run run fast and happy
ArminArm ArminArm like paper men down the highway
Past the clumps of trees that dream themselves to ideal forests
And for a path to the sky
The dappled light.

My pleasures shout marco polo

Smoke vines and get off boldly under bridges for shade where…

(A fat man runs with fat children at the yellow feet of the madhouse

That looks like a multi-storey-madman

Walking down the valley v)

…My pleasures do not hide.

Small: they shine and slide underbehindoverthrough doors, keyholes and cracks

Pick locks in broad day light where sun plays search lamp

To find you where you sleep, to hold you and your soul where you dream so deep.

My pleasures are a body whole:

whole in all its carnevale

Whole and hurting, hurtling down roads unknown

That body with silences, openings, moans
orifices, architecture and ordinary elegance, idiocies
(betises) bis.

Body bad that scuffs heel shone, shuns the step a step, shuffles a little, stubs its soft toe.

The hair the sweat the hole boned whole, like a tent made for loving low.
My pleasures are invincible

A superhero stream

Sprinting up your dark mountain screaming all the way
Ambling down your precipice

They may crawl through phone lines and swim the oceans green.


Live unseen in every breath (you breathe you) breath (you breathe)

Take keys brass under tongues, cross lovely hearts

And live the little death.

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