The source of yellow-spine
is flowing in reverse
outside the refineries
past bedtime.

In spine, sparkles fluidity.
While women yellow-warm
Incestuously with
shrieks slipping from their tresses.

Disturbing that the red
shine of guilt belies their Centers.
They glow sweetmaize platitudes
from the center,
like wholesome Constraints.
    It disturbs when
engorged eyes, pure in their
undeniable otherness,
are upon you.
But strangely, goodly, this guilt
unabashes attractions.

A woman with her purple bird lust,
kneels,
Haunches hidden in Yellow.

Wrapper feathers that fall from every
one
muddy undistinguished ground --
the clouds made flesh
clasping terra.

Redshine guilt flies above,
elemental and useless
except to step Down, frozen footed,
into the shore-lapping
foam of
refinery spoiled waters.

The body of shriek brings
strange men to one another.

or is it the breaking of constraint--
cumulus women (turned
bas-relief  nymphs) as they
drown the red beneath useless foam.

This was published here on Monday, 31 July 2000 at 9:48 and is filed under Poem. You may leave a response, or trackback from your own site.