Monday, May 9, 2011

if spring were a woman, i'd never let her go

i pressed everything
against the glass
and waited
for a pulse.

i removed the limbs,

they folded nicely
on the horizon-
it was only fitting
that they should pull,
and calm,
every morning
into night.

next, the lungs
were removed
-and quickly-

without the heart
between them
they fight for air,
and a place to put it.

once apart,
their arrest is apparent
and the shell that remains
carries the breath of aging

at this point,
i felt safe
the senses.

they grow tired
without the necessary attention.
but without hands or voice,
and scent,
are easily etched from hiding.

once removed,
they caress my
casual advances
within all four seasons;

i placed the eyes,
in spring,
so that they should not
recall the harshness of winter.

the tongue,
and both ears,
will forever battle
for the last breath of fall
upon the first sigh of winter.

but every inch of nerve
will sit calmly
in the thunderstorms
of iowa summer.

1 comment:

Lola Nation said...

spring never seemed so dark...dismembered and yet so whole at the same time ... piece by piece ...