I wrote some things for some stuff.
--
The cornflower men
they all line up in rows of 16
to take swigs of musty, ringing dusk
scarlet droplets staining fine-stitched suit
pinned bluebell bachelor's button
They're only boys, yet
they speak in precious foreign tongues
bring me trinkets
rolls of silk or
diamond slippers for my mud-caked feet
Coins pulled from places I didn't know I have
inside me boiling darkness
screaming kettle tea yawning early morning
scrape his tie 'n make the coffee
Kiss my fingers in the bedroom
and with your silver surgical scalpels
cut up my virgin ego bleeding out my future
you call it pus and drain it in your tin buckets
leave it to dry and make soft clay
in slowly singing sunward skies
crawl out the grave, tear off the roots reaching into your skin
shallow and smells of dirt
push and knead
push and knead
push and pull and knead and push and
now my child 'walk' and so you do
but we're orphans, hand in hand, two for price of one package deal
Gemini walkin'
'She's a southern belle,' they say, 'or was
Ghosts of debutante cryin' wolf'
The swanky blackbird ladies in water dress
Flower prints, white hems, broad brimmed hats,
lavender perfume pressed in double dabs to breasts and
other suspicious places
they remind you of summer
black dead and buried
when tale was all the rage
putting rose-red candles in your beard to keep the night out
just like Joanna taught us on the vinyl records
burning methane lights in tangles of ebony wire
so far so gone, was a housewife bud had those
old bones removed filled in with brackish cement to keep me sturdy
here, may I lose my life long lost refound
that I may have felt the crags of Appalachia put me out
that I may become a silent werewolf
spit-fire coarse-hair leave behind my
pie-crusts, silverware kitchens, bluebell whiskey bottles
flows like tumbling rivers
sloughing off west and
taking on water.
--
The cornflower men
they all line up in rows of 16
to take swigs of musty, ringing dusk
scarlet droplets staining fine-stitched suit
pinned bluebell bachelor's button
They're only boys, yet
they speak in precious foreign tongues
bring me trinkets
rolls of silk or
diamond slippers for my mud-caked feet
Coins pulled from places I didn't know I have
inside me boiling darkness
screaming kettle tea yawning early morning
scrape his tie 'n make the coffee
Kiss my fingers in the bedroom
and with your silver surgical scalpels
cut up my virgin ego bleeding out my future
you call it pus and drain it in your tin buckets
leave it to dry and make soft clay
in slowly singing sunward skies
crawl out the grave, tear off the roots reaching into your skin
shallow and smells of dirt
push and knead
push and knead
push and pull and knead and push and
now my child 'walk' and so you do
but we're orphans, hand in hand, two for price of one package deal
Gemini walkin'
'She's a southern belle,' they say, 'or was
Ghosts of debutante cryin' wolf'
The swanky blackbird ladies in water dress
Flower prints, white hems, broad brimmed hats,
lavender perfume pressed in double dabs to breasts and
other suspicious places
they remind you of summer
black dead and buried
when tale was all the rage
putting rose-red candles in your beard to keep the night out
just like Joanna taught us on the vinyl records
burning methane lights in tangles of ebony wire
so far so gone, was a housewife bud had those
old bones removed filled in with brackish cement to keep me sturdy
here, may I lose my life long lost refound
that I may have felt the crags of Appalachia put me out
that I may become a silent werewolf
spit-fire coarse-hair leave behind my
pie-crusts, silverware kitchens, bluebell whiskey bottles
flows like tumbling rivers
sloughing off west and
taking on water.
