Lit, I spread my arms and swallow the sky
and when they come to find me composedly
sleeping, they find only dusty remains
of kaleidoscopic stars, gossamer greens
red and blue; Indeed I shone too brightly.
Sizzled and fallen, the crowd marched home.
Exit, alternatively, a toy of light
reeled upstream, snagging on nothing.
Glimpsed once and imagined for a lifetime.
An Ode to Tattoos
I like the way you have doctored your body.
I like the way, when I read the slow curve of your hips,
I can also read the script in your head.
In swirling black letters, it reads: Swing Through Life!
I don’t know what it means, but I’ll swing through you,
if you know what I mean.
On the top of your thigh you’ve drawn a portrait of your dog,
the one who is dead now. He will be there to pet
I like your thighs, even that one.
On your left wrist, it is written: Infinity.
Or, rather, there is a symbol I have come to learn
means infinity. And it is written right there
on the thin of your wrist!
When I look at your figure, naked,
it is preferred, I wonder
what kind of seeds you must bury, deep
under the thick of your skin
to get bouquets like that.