390 Readings | 2 Ratings
watermark
two bodies
all that stands between the moon
and sand’s shuffling infinity
little stones little speech
a wave-like shambling in my throat :
the lodestars they triangulate
fly the flight of light-
years to be re-born as
space-wrought signposts
these demoted suns
fury into
gravity well buttonholes
dressed in consumption fed by hand
my friend nods : this only ever sends us
around corners so we palm compact mirrors
make vulnerable our wrists
he figures it’s the density of magnetized copper
its tendency to electron that can reverse compass thorns
he can spin the world to us and its north held red like a pin
we walk some there is a coast skip navigation like a stone
let tortoise and the emperor moon
show us where to print
here between the legs of a beach
pregnant with challenge we run fingers of direction
up the thigh of wave’s crest
i might have coughed : the air is thirsty it
picks all the salt from the sea
Mars-colors are flaring up are eve-speaking Galilean
this the needlespun
this the wave ring
my friend shivers like an arrow buttons with the sea
his notched head sinks deep into the bottom silt
the hilt of him splinters out from the water’s skin in the wound
of a signpost
what some might call a float
all that stands between the moon
and sand’s shuffling infinity
little stones little speech
a wave-like shambling in my throat :
the lodestars they triangulate
fly the flight of light-
years to be re-born as
space-wrought signposts
these demoted suns
fury into
gravity well buttonholes
dressed in consumption fed by hand
my friend nods : this only ever sends us
around corners so we palm compact mirrors
make vulnerable our wrists
he figures it’s the density of magnetized copper
its tendency to electron that can reverse compass thorns
he can spin the world to us and its north held red like a pin
we walk some there is a coast skip navigation like a stone
let tortoise and the emperor moon
show us where to print
here between the legs of a beach
pregnant with challenge we run fingers of direction
up the thigh of wave’s crest
i might have coughed : the air is thirsty it
picks all the salt from the sea
Mars-colors are flaring up are eve-speaking Galilean
this the needlespun
this the wave ring
my friend shivers like an arrow buttons with the sea
his notched head sinks deep into the bottom silt
the hilt of him splinters out from the water’s skin in the wound
of a signpost
what some might call a float
Posted 02/24/11
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"he can spin the world to us and its north held red like a pin"
"the air is thirsty"
Just beautiful, Jeff.
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02/25/11 9:03am
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