I'm going to copy a poem here, but I just know that blogger will fuck up the line breaks. Sorry, world.
the birds
I sort of like
myself each day
as you express
your longing looking
out the window
I witness your back
I groaning and
waiting for the
grains to soak their
minutes
reading some stray
thing eight years old
you pounce: oh.
Everything does its
work. Bold or hidden?
I enthuse to under
lining moving you
again. Bigger more
insistent desires
remind me of the
friend I must call
and what remains
of last night
accompanies
me to a
surprising wet
street. Returned
the formula & some
of the work's
done in my absence.
I will call you.
Like the book
your gift has arrived
inside me daily
now the underlining
to hold onto and be
heard now in the
wake of the new
knowledge. Just before
finishing I interupt
to say. Confident
in my relationship
to some sentence
some thing. And when I
thought your sweetness
would be left
you are gone.
I also want to share the last lines from her poem, "Like":
the night's a little devil
I hold in my hand
petting holding
his head
learning his
loves. Liking
him. Digging his heat.
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