Marianne

What are the facts of this poem?

         It points to

                      plurality

                      and unity

 

the subtle feathery edge of the wing

(or the spirit of the thing).

 

What is the genuine?

        Dilating-

              the pupil expands as

                    we admire

                         what we cannot understand.

 

What does the poem do to you-

           to persuade you it is a real poem?

 

π is interesting.

Parallel lines are interesting.

            They do not repeat-

                     there is no intersection-

                            they are gestures toward the real thing.

 

 

What is the source?

             Is it the well where the hazelnut falls?

Or is it battling, inarticulate

              blindly unmaking it?

 

There is wisdom to unfolding

         petals-       pages-       words

                 to find truth

                     to wonder what is.

 

Intimations of-          something

               an encounter-           in real life.

Bonnie & Clyde (Pantoum)

Her skin smells like water, or chlorine, and in

the green light, colored like new love,

she asks, were you a soldier?

I have to say no, but I did once kill a man.

 

The green light, colored like new love,

turns her skin blue and I ask if she is cold-

she says no, but I did once kill a man.

She pulls her blouse over her head-

 

turning her skin blue, I ask if she is cold

as I run a hand up her leg, tracing her-

she pulls her blouse over her head

pushing me away in the process of undressing.

 

I run a hand up her leg, tracing her

skin that is laid over veins and muscle.

She pushes me away in the process of undressing-

explaining what it is like to kill, to watch a man die.

Untitled (A Response to Coral Bracho)

The words ask for exploration; the landscape of the body

with the touch of another’s

we share the curiosity of cartographers

in a new land                        mysterious etchings of symbols across skin

                                    blue veins encase the bone.

 

The poem asks for response but the language is unknown

claridad                         -clearly

                        What is the incantation

                        for water           

                        turned into red wine dried at the bottom of a cup?

 

                        aqua

                        vino rojo

 

What makes a word?

Is it the adjective?

Is it the way it is whispered in dark?

 

Back in bed, the lovers explore the echoing

            caves; carrying a magic quality

            an anacoluthia

            the zetetic process of a kiss- an inquiry into taste

            they vellicate at the brush of eyelash against skin.

 

Previously published in Transfer Magazine (SFSU)