i recant my last
written at 0-9 hundred
on day 9, of month 4: April
(the most sour-faced of all)
because of a donkey
because he said daughter
because the verse was 9:9
because the king is coming
The whIte of the wInd Unleashes my Head
aNd I am Drunk. my skin turns to sIlk.
I'm the scent of sweet grasses. SImple.
Christ wraps around me. noT unbIddEn.
spIrIt laps my Face lIke an unblinking I,
or a lash pressed upOn me. I pay attentIon.
Tornado I say, Pour wIld. Pour easily. Pour
Gold &daIsIes. thOUgh I am undone, tHough
I am unHInged, & dISheveled I trust my ear
& leap. BodacIous. In motIon. In whIte
nOIse. whIte lIght. I'm so close to helpless
I'm pErfEctIon. There's no dIsguISing
the featHErs. there's no dIs-GuIsIng the
dancIng starfIsh whO sInG I love you! aNd
as rIdIculous as our encounter Is, out back
In my lAWn &garden chaIr, I rEally mEan It.