Wednesday, July 2, 2008

new birds

i like the word lovely
painted and spilled on and mopped up with linen
and i love the word like
and the way it holds you on its fingertips
and i need the word still
and all of the quiet concentration and
leaned-into-it almost tripping in front of it-ness
that it implies and whispers and groans and sings
and i hope the word here
with promises and promises and promises
torn and etched into the face of things.
but i always like the word lovely
and the way it creaks its heavy fragrant load
into my hair and my pores and my dreams
and i'm wrapped up with pink and maybe and perhaps
and i will expect the somehow
the way water appeared that time in the woods
in frosty, lovely aluminum cups
and bit our throats all the way down
like birds chirping in new paint
soft like down, sweet like you.

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