his cheekbone glistened
shadows of teeth and lips against
bends of limbs
mouth to mouth
patterns of clouds
simply by looking
quick to burn bridges
wouldnt think twice
forget what i was
there was no way to stop
my fingers, my arms
touches of blood
fresh corpses entice me
drained of life and scarred
peering into a strangers eyes
the world overwhelms me.
My November Guest
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
And they are better for her praise
"passing that firey tree,
if only she could-
be making love,
be making poetry,
be exploding, speeding through space,
like a photon, like a shower,
-of yellow blazes?"