Monday, February 27, 2012

winter in the lamb's warm blood

the air in
here is tight and sore;
punctured, sudden, and punctuated
by breath.
and pussywillows bend
towards rivers. .. frosted.
and i want the dead trees to drop your eyes
from my shearing, from my alabaster body
because i, in fear, understand how in half.truths,
one broken lamb is as good as
the broken limbs you imagine.

another kind of lovemaking is here.
love is death enough; am i even there?

in these
dim peripheral darks, we've strung out
stars and wrung our sleeves free
of string.quartered hearts....

child of vixen's woods, a lover
of poisons that are not mine own.

so i keep the whitest stain
under my tongue, where words oleander
based on the pure taste of something. .
. .nothing. .
i can bite back.

i live to love, to leave, but i never
either; one life
or the other
so swift it moves proverbially
across my throat........ as if
it knows the boundaries of a girl
all akimbo and vertigo. know
the circumference of euthanasia.
and how quickly to let me go.
my flesh is softspoken.
....outside, i am a thousand bitten skins.. .. .
....inside, an abyss of uncivilization.. ... ...

i've asked that you seduce me
whistle.thin and hot with home.
i've written it in red like jesus.

......we can share
.........a mouth.

hurry, now.

bury me another

by ness bloo

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