Monday, November 7, 2011

poem || Jeff Harrison

All Loud Worm

slow-rising naked heart turns spider-tongued
turning dry quarter shapes,
O how the Fall harnessed my veins down

flat tiger crane-flat beneath the skin

my mechanical fruit gone All Loud Worm -
Mr. Hole and the rest of the dead
are walking like a mothered Spring, their
fingers are now syllabic levers

the sea-gut Summer's tomb weathers
the powder of some Sargasso smile our
original fishes' bough is alight with drowned fuses

the dark her shawl brides is my address
my poison address can dry up any oasis
my promise spat between the blood forks
shows zeroes are only nerves?

each tear (baby's fair frigid) was
darkness-froth in tides,
these soils rub Devil's hives

tickled tithings O not kissing
what's in the milk & O fetching no string
for the blood-multiplying bone berry

No comments:

Post a Comment