Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Your body of water raises towards the crown of my sequoia and splits into countless drops and you become ascending rain, tips piercing the Blue, and you become clouds, then vapors, then rivers and then earth, and now the sole of my feet, I need to sit, so I don’t hurt you.
I live in a stone, a whole population of mountains worships me, sculptors work assiduously to define my shape.
Kindergarten arranged in a grid, the queen jumps diagonally over dormant kids and takes the bishop in her bedroom, no loom left for breakfast, razor sharp sheep defend my forehead from the inevitable impact with Mr. Freud’s baseball bat.
What do you mean I’m not emotionally mature? I like manure, I like French cheese, I’m not obese, I can feel a sigh in a good bye and a kiss in the abyss!
You think you can dig in my heart like a shameless gold seeker?
Tomorrow is my birthday I will look at this second as at my own private personality split when Picasso was my maiden name and Dali was tattooed on my baldness.
You know I can’t love you like the milk loves the cow like a king loves the bow, but I can be your meow, you can be my hello, hollow cats between us will yelp happier than ever at the full moon.
Your cubic breasts march like the Red Army through the Louvre, looking for a resting place, where they can take the boots off and relax at Giaconda’s feet.
Anaconda, bless your wide shoulders, wide as an oil rig, I go to my wedding wearing only a wig.
What if I draw your body with crayons on my body and you draw your body with crayons on my body and we both pretend we are lions?
Douce paper cauliflower, pearls in you hair, tiny baobabs keep you afloat when rains fills your memories with battleships.
A bouquet of fjords darling, for your birthday let’s run over the frozen Atlantic to Iceland and open a bookstore with samurai novels, it’s nice and quiet on the rainbow of your smile.
Beauty retracts with Jack, in-the-box, few curls hang over the edge while the lid is being shut closed and butterflies with steel chains lift her in the cosmos where no children can see her.
Billion bells burst into a harmonious chatter when you enter the cathedral after supper naked and magnetic and poetic and cometic.
Let it be delight, holler into the night, wolves play with pillows, lovers stuck in the willows.
Heart open like a Great Pyramid by an atomic bomb filled with marmalade.