Old Poems, New Meanings…

CurioShop-300x218I. Want is a figure eight, girl that skates on top
of my weight, naked, sunk

into the sheets.  I’ve drooped
into third person.  You will often see

 her there.  For weeks she thinks
each conversation is their last, twists

the linens from her past, licks her
fingers, drags them slowly

down her ribs.  The voice inside
says, What do you want, what

do you want, what do
you want me to sound like what do

you call me in the dark
name me, I’ll come out

II. Why will this poem be about panties, spun
like sugar from hot white
lace, 147 snowflakes linked & laid like a gull
in flight on my hips?  Why will
I tap these keys until
I have sore fingertips?  We live

in a curio shop.  A museum of advent
calendars, packed down with springs that pop.
There is a door that hides another and will
you follow me?  Can you crouch that low?  Outside,
always, snow, we’re trapped together
by the weather’s will, the wind’s shrill
woman shrieks at us to stay.  Will you, can

                                                            I, yes, you may.

This entry was published on December 2, 2012 at 10:26 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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