Sunday, October 24, 2010

The Muse Plays a Red Guitar (Albatross)

i)
The muse
play a red guitar, skin like ebony,
deserts me feeling
forlorn. Foregone
conclusions leap about and all that's
missing is the proof
for all that
talk
takes us nowhere.

The muse looks blue when he's beautiful

and rises in coils and flames
away from his face, bent
over strings.

His fingers pluck
and his eyes sing Hallelujah
to one more king.

ii)
Everything shows on my face.
What we do,
what we do to each other without looking.

I don't want to fight with you.

I don't want to fight you or be your wife
with all the trimmings,
all the trappings.
I don't mean to trap him,
though he feels it.
Afterward, after
words and his eyes are owlish,
bird caught in lime,
lines,
lime-light.

iii)
My albatross is heavier today,
wings toward morning.

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