Oh Well

With a lazily lavish lunge you layed down on the law; you lied, and I feel in languor, longing for your love like losing myself down the length of a wet ill-smelling well, and looking up for the yellow welkin above me laughing, your smiling lines. I admonished you deeply with my eyes, hollow. Your laden smile lauded widely as the well-hole my lonely laments. Your leisurely look beheld of lowly me only a lifeless likeness of a loath soul languishing in the lurid liquid like an image lapsed loose of my belonging, mirrorlike. I asked you sorrowfully, like trying to howl with one lung at a full lunar light, why you let me love you.

All’s Well

A wolf would know well what I fear, yelling, how I feel, howling at your yellow moon-face. The fruit of fun rots fraught with the force of your forked tongue. I relent. Release me forth from your frowning receptacle and righteously resign from your full reign that wells forth like a foul fountain from my reservoir of feeling as I find myself mooning on my fading fate forgone. The found is found. The flood must flow away, resigned, draining down in forgotten unfathomable faults, and drowning me in its failing fluid of faithless fatigue. Finally life like a frail trap fondly frees me forever from your flair for flaws of the flesh, and I drift and dream of a field of flaming flowers.

That Ends Well

Sweet sleep sinks slowly shafted, sunken to a freshly snared source of sympathetic sound. Asleep, sunlight stirs softly on my pleased skin as I see in a vision strength streaming from springing blossoms singing their sure song of sun and sonnet. I see grapes of volition sour in the smiling mouth of deception. I see its seeds of eagerness and spite like stars perish in small salty seas of insipid sorrow and silently cease both ease and stress. Yet these shapes of sight and sound rest as I think in a sentient circle like a night sky reflection and suppose a reason for beauty and symmetry like the surmise of trust, as a statute of conception.

November 1972