Part I
UNDULATE, MY TONGUE
My tongue undulates, a wave to shore,
knocks a vigorous reef,
then slides to sea once more.
The coral pink horizon of the mouth,
cavernous shores,
my tongue laps pier white teeth
in servitude like an oar.
Heavy drifting, bobbing as a buoy,
the tongue sinks slowly down before
surprising saliva
going ashore.
[9]
RAIN FILM
On the night of the rains,
water was oozing out from
the sky's swollen stitches,
a rash developed across
the meaning of the heavens.
The wooden floors of my attic place
strove for a deeper tone,
a hoarse calling
grew louder as I paced
trying to see rain.
I followed the gravity of the treasure hunt
where each bounce meant a slap
across a table top of tension,
where the window basted winter black rain
and silence paid another call.
I am as much as this water flower, rain.
I am as impressionable as the city that stops for rain.
And I lack the same substance that dooms water to be
a soft pillow feather; excepting this,
I may still shatter this thing, March routine existence
by dabbling in destruction.
[10]