Progression

Progression

-
You were a nice dream someone
was dreaming over a nightmare-

a shaky projection of a daisy over
flesh eating worms feeding on politicians
in bruise colored suits under a burning sky.


-

How you came to me is something unknown,
a close second to the various stories of creation.
Someone shook a world, (I imagine it looked
like a snow globe in the huge hands
of whatever it is we call the thing
that moves situations to action and order)
and uprooted our separate positions,
jostling us together like air particles
in the swollen dome of a hot air balloon,
in the combustion that powers jet turbines.

You were the dream over the dream
and also the waking into.
(here is where words fail. To say love
would be tautological and only an inch deep.
What I woke to was otherness.)

-

You are the many rules of possession,
the unfurling lines of progress,
and the elastic clauses in constitutional precepts,
the angles of the body twisted into the contortions of love,
the impossibility of flight.


-

we are
petals in a pile
beneath the stripped center,
pollen dusted fat stamen,
the color of earwax,
and the uncertain smell
How quickly it rots,
beneath the burning sky,
the melting ice,
the acid rain.

Kiss me while we still have teeth.
Fuck me while we still have muscle
to stretch over our naked, crooked bones.