she opened her eyes as if a strip-
tease, lashes rapids over the glistening
skins of sight, wet hairs falling to the
tips of her lady-breasts, bloodied flags
waving freedom from worry-clothes,
meaning those walls built to protect,
but ending as a prison ...
... would she be, then, in this nakedness
without conscience, a murderess? an
abuser of sky and water? would she
fuck, then, man, animals and other women?
... would she trespass, then, on that
which you protect, that which has judged
you in prison.
... doubt it. Doubt it to the point where
she pulls off her clothes for nothing
other than to let you bathe in her, diving
from eye to eye as if an otter splashing
in stream to ocean, feasting and rolling
on its fur-back, ocean to stream, the tides
ripping at her walls, at yours, dragging
the sands to the far ocean, that which
is too blue.
Too fast crow,
dark pearl on blue
river to follow, lost,
you cry, you fuck
of a black hole.
Then night, sudden
dark wings spread, black
on black vanish.
Gulp aspirin like dreams
to calm the acid-pain of
fright slapping like golf balls
in steel barrels rolled off
a cliff to splatter on rocks
sloshed with surf and
tideless pools bubbling
with foam -- a salty soup to
mix jasmine petals and green
weeds to smear on alabaster
face, body and feet and
slippery cracks to appear
like stalk and leaf and flower
soaking sun and nothing
else now to do but shudder