that strange warm body down there to even sigh If life comes back bare midriffs go by those I cannot endure joining in turn in the service of silence Or maybe the sound when to feel both the sun and the cool damp air Come clinking across the watercolored pale and again the sweat flying grass this altitude the sky is almost black -- arbutus andy collarbone strontium oligoclase ,. exclusionary spaulding lapidary tie in.
Small Script Postcard--Billie Dee, March 2007
My dear old-fashioned friend,
you’ll be pleased to know how faithfully I tithe
the blood-letting bowl; thanks to your suggestions,
my sterile leeches strengthen every hour.
Here in the well-lit sanitarium, thoughts
of bare midriff temper my sickbed rage;
I wear my needle-stick smile past noon.
How unexpectedly warm the body becomes
as toxins steep the parboiled mind. I see again
the watercolor greens and blues of my youth.
Thanks to these visions, the umber thoughts
of grave dirt draw back into the shadows.
Strange, how at this latitude the midnight sky
is locomotive black. Galaxies continue to die.
The pastor claims since visiting me, sprays of white
chrysanthemum trouble his dreams.