O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
purient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty .how
oftn have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
Thanks again to those of you who gave me some feedback on my pending blog project. I think I am going to sit down and really start the thing over winter break when I have ample time to play around with it.
Hope all of you are well!
dXm
Proud Plastic Days
The Smell of smoke and char
The carbon acrid stench,
The reek of squandered passion
She cupped the flame
Guarding against the wind and lit the candle.
Who knows what comes next? she said.
The moon peeked in the window
Jealous that her light wasnt enough.
My father liked whiskey
Drunk hot and raw, and smelling of sawdust
He would butcher pigs, with 3 or 4 shots in him
And then cry all night after.
Tomorrow trips and scrapes her knees on our fear.
That mob of yesterdays screaming for her blood
Wanting.
I look out into the city
And see rooftops and ash plumed chimneys.
We dream our little dreams within.
Cursing each unfocused hunger.