1.
At first blush, my, it widens...
oh, these freckles, how cool in the face,
as chilled studs placed in leather.
The shame of a baby naked,
placed in a black yard-plot...
the least of the black butt-end
of navel is fallen away.
One baby lone and waxing ruddy,
exposed.
At the blush, creaker trucks and painted
honeysuckle...bleak mass to cold storefronts.
Idlers near...sheaves overcome a carrier,
sheaves’ eyes tumbling to the drainage,
gaze the drainage down...eke light from
urban lights, you eyes, quench salvage-light
in drainage ash. Strew-flowers,
rushes for waning rib-form babe.
2.
Blush that some heels bestow on honeysuckle; else
a stewy flush from grotesque’s mouth, which is
drainage. Ash feels its own specific weight, and it gloms at the best of bent green stems. Street, eke light from a hundred
of portholes, settling in port...eyes lamplighting
all folks’ nightly trample.
-2005
