A kiss has its own topology

[ A kiss has its own topology ]


Chanced to find an iris and the coming across of puddles, again, my lover
under the one oak tree in a silk skirt silk scarf and sneakers. And

gloves. Somewhere a moss-covered stone. Somewhere a stone clove
covered ground. No hail under the long rock nevertheless

so here you are again and; beyond the circle of intertwined daisies
I'm hurrying ambitiously to get somewhere. I don't think I have ever been

happier in the dark that was offered in the very marrow of writing.
Thus words are sounded so so nothing is moistened with meaning.
Across the way is rain the sky is throwing the unborn pattern

of temporary rain against the whiteness. A swarming up a rough
root-skin. Swarming madly. Bees gathering. The sting of a bee is

barbed, like a hook in a fish mouth but of course the bee doesn't
have to worry about what comes next. This is the love for which I had
no training. The union I transposed into a dark scribble

which became my lover calling, calling my name to stifle me. It occurs to me
each morning I've sucked nectar from when I was pleasant. I leaned against

the curtain and watched her slow exit from the car. It's better to have loved
and lost than to have wintered in the tool shed. For a moment, though, regret

like leather on the soles of my shoes thinning. This morning I cradled
away from the possibility I'm terrified via your flesh, your unbearable pitch.

There is sex in the bushes, as swift and tangled and maddening as anything
else. If this is correct then how much does it matter? What if all the molecules
in your body were to chance to travel in the same direction?

according to such and such and such; somewhere unseen a kiss
of wind sways a willow above a lake.
* * * * *

Structural Interview

Structural Interview

In a way, I used to be bigger
       In what the body can be made to do.

Did you know me? My father
       Calls just long enough for a mouthful

Of air to fill his lungs. How quickly
       It slips away. Did you think we wanted

To be like you? Impossible to tell
       From the voice on my machine;

My mother's anointed mouth open
       With a final prayer.

And on into the silence again.
       In one version, I had a sister.

Did you know her? She writes poems,
       And in one version, she never seems

To get older. Not ash really.
       If anyone asks, I'll tell them I'm happy.

Will you meet me for coffee?
       She doesn't answer. Because as all things

Have their answers, yes or no,
       My lover used to be bigger

In my version. Sometimes I dream
       Of mysterious lighted rooms, the muted clangor

To what our mouths once made. I imagine
       I just barely escaped

My parents, calmly speaking about something
       With no reference to the human.

In a way, I don't know what to believe
       Forgetting for a moment I'm trying to love

Me. A sound will leave my throat,
       Then the little singing verse of urges.

The blue heart is a surfeit of sublimity
       in the mild air. In a way, I once thought

Of the day that I don't ever at night
       Any more fear each little death of sleep.

When I walk down your corridor, I once thought,
       Birth & Consequence. A small windgust
       Behind me without origin.
       * * * * *