I was sold a dream. Life has been hard.
A voucher for a spirit.
Puma paws, prayer hands.
I was sold trauma,
Lost in a dungeon, aching for comfort,
Land-pain was fertile.
Quickness;
Due to pulchritude. A sinner like life.
I started here: rhymeless poetry,
At a weeping bench, a grief tree, trying
To evaporate, ignoring the mass of
Properties:
Jagged swords,
Drop top Impalas,
Debating if Love honors life.
I met radiance. She thinks I haven’t an
Apology to knit; I wonder why she visits;
I can’t see ourselves: she
Knows more, well studied, a smile with
Rain.
What does one need? It’s woven in
Passing. Engrained in genetics: I think I
Know her—somewhere in the Old
Scriptures—Somewhere in India.
We never met, seated across the table, an
Ant moving swiftly, a cup of water, a drank
Of juice, lamb and bread … a tank of
Stingrays, and one jelly fish.
I was told to keep with patience, it
Connotes dealing with deserts, ignoring
Purple elephants, eating old clams. And
Love will never know why—the love!
