June 17, 2004

'I'm an alchemist
of practical skill'
said the wine-man
to Othello
'tonight I'll drink
your finest red
and
tomorrow
it comes out
yellow'

I looked through the curtains
of a falling window
and saw gasping, reaching limbs
one man may have heard
lustful moans
but to me they were sweet hymns
in the timing of
ecstasy announced
air rushed in through a newly
opened crack
I'm vulnerable in my lower back
but I'm a tiger
so I pounced

I hear her speak
the language of angels
in her sleep
it seems garbled
and I don't have the mind
to decode or to keep
my attention, not to mention
the dreams
I've yet to reap
but it seems that there are
chasms
where only the faithful
leap
and into the arms of winged
spasms
heaving towards
conclusions
that sputter out once dispelled
of their
confusion
they then,
devoid of heaven
attend disaster
they say it makes their
lifespans
flutter faster.

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