Babble on, young tigress,
after the flood, after the act.
An eye for an eye
an ear for an hour
in your fertile crescent
I settle, silent as silt
on the riverbed, while
you fray these
sentences into syllables
riddles unraveling
in the muttering deep
Shell of bronze, heart of heat
your skin's an isle where golden apples
hang in gardens. Tigress!
Your babbling breaks
my code of loss
my mouth content to breath
My heart content to hammer
I'll be settling down, down
tired of hunting for answers
gathering fruitful clues
your words shred sense into softness
build us a nest
sink us to sleep
Friday, December 4, 2009
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