April 20.
April 20
before coffee or cricket before
the bullfrog’s unholy racket
just a book a cat staring at me
with her bright constellations
and my wrist’s constant throb
it is in this quiet that I remove my
head arrange it among corn
flowers and baby’s breath
in the florist’s refrigerated
case breathe the promise
fragrance of gardenias in boxes
rose cramped arrangements
elephant shaped vases for the ill
I’ll return for you at nine
I tell my empty skull
don’t worry I tell my blue
blue eyes I’ll always come back
I lie without blinking and close
the soft fleshy door
posted by Radish King at 5:57 PM
3 Comments:
Oh my god. This is magnificent. I want to copy it in my book and paint a perfect watercolor to go with it.
I want to roll around in this one until I smell of a boxed gardenia.
I read this last night on my phone and lay there with my mouth hanging open, the visual scampering through my brain. Stunning.
Post a Comment
<< Home