Orpheus knottied the tie, kicked the boat off, bad poems
were always easier to write than good ones. Like chapeled
loves hounding the day. Or stupid eleven o'clocks with
no one in them, and themes that buried themselves in books,
or eventide mornings with sown words
of tractors and detective novels, or girls you didn't really want
and vicarious lives of various lovers and their severals sons, never mind their daughters. When all the saps wore sentiment green and were blue and tabloid. That was how you made a poem , looking for the hard voice , letting go of the trite one.
Some summer evening she came to me, a surprise around
the sunrise, and she tangled green with her forest,
and mine of course, our genitals forest caught in the free
play of her belly. she snorted up at us when we was done!
Gosh we had made the mountain come! it was faith
and fides coming to us, the mountain you know that story, now
come here and let me ___ Yes, slide my hand , cup
it , cup my hand , under your breast, watermelon style of kisses and weaves . Gentle Orpheus be my song, she said, Come my dancer, Hung me tight. We hung all night. We hung all night. A song of medieval proportion and delight.
I found her body outside on the porch, note I say the
porch not the portico of some diamond ring, and her
painting body lay in my head, on my chest for weeks. I recall lying under it after we had 'made love'. As if we could make anything! and imagine saying we 'made' love, as if we could make
love do anything at all, when he, as always, was calling the shots.
I learned how to write in those days doing the impossible. Rhymes of her feet, metrics of her nose, grading of her body from toes to teeth. Her amber flesh and iambic pavement was
the sole body on which I trod . Dreaming of the song
of duty later in the night. Her hand froze on the table. She had
travelled the distance. She eyed the moment, knowing it had come like a snow man to kiss her, free her, and make her bridge quieter.
Was that really her name in a prose honesty of desire that could not be said? I loved the way she prosed my name against her thighs holding my hand as she said it.
Orpheus was bold in those days!
and ampersand Eurydice was a cheeky girl!!
in the halve nights and whole wakes of their date and dime .
Now if desire wasn't hidden in that then I am the king's
meow he said lapping her eyes to the night. Midriff knights
of bay and faith was her love her desire .
You are happy .
