Author Information
Living Dead
Folder:
Astronomical Poetry
You watched asleep all last night, smoldering in crimson glow.
But today you are younger in the violet sky.
Against grey, deep shadows on the bellies of clouds.
Sense the sweet potent air of thunder.
As it rants and raves against the yellow roses, on the edge of monuments that sag and twist.
Kiss me with your lips wet and pure.
Write to me again of that language itself a work of art.
Kiss me again sweet morphology.
In these words, nothing is impossible.
No one else will help us here.
We must serve ourselves to each syllable.
As the long-winded wind talks slowly inside the storm.
Now, rambling more than the curve of a carefully winding creek.
It is in the passion of your breast near the willows on the fingers of remembrance.
In this death by friendly fire from the white full, moon of July.
I know that she is splendid.
As ever, truth is in there hiding when she was cruel to be kind.
And I am like a sweetly tongued phoenix, looming in the distance flying seaward in a dream.
