Friday, January 20, 2006

A Beaver's Horn


A wrinkled castle

Where I walk out to meet you

This will be our war

It never leaves my head

Our hands scattered over writing


This body of mine

Throbbing like a beaver’s horn

Windows fly open

I have waited in darkness

I have an unblinking eye


The dead are left alone

Covered with the fallen snow

A thousand trees mate

Like two tigers drowning in

The house of the one I loved


I live in a world

Of rain and intermissions

Dull from the blackness

It is hard to see your face

Through the wet hair of the beast


To burst into flames

Stone a hawk with your bouquet

Map its short cold cries

White rocks settle on the page

Each scream seems proof of your love


When I am gone this

Trojan horse of urine and

Feces will watch you

You don’t understand but you

Open your mouth like a toad


Since I am alone

My throat slams in my body

Like a finger in white junk

The maple leaves are falling

With one eye open for dear life


I look back at her

And think I see a horse

Moving her cold lips

Stumbling across a field

Like a burn from a skillet


When I walk with you

There is nothing out there but

Column after column

Embers of a fire blow by

This bedrock of stone guts


I cross these mountains

Through razors and sperm and whales

Unbuttoning your mouth

You lose your voice in the dark

Print of a passing pitchfork