Haunting
hustling hurrying harrowing hurling – hush.
John, if I knew one, would be right.
Take the marmalade
and spread
it over the bread.
Taste it as
the eyes taste light.
Yes. Simple emptiness,
delicious shine. Buddha sits
in the TV room. The rain clouds.
It is good jam.
Since she had lost
all crystals and ponds in her eyes
I had reason to believe
that a furious cobweb
had adhered to her forehead
as a continent of thistle
rooted in the wasteland of her frivolous skin
and yet I’m sure that she was once radiant
as a mirror pointed to the sea,
that once her teeth were rays
piercing through her naturally bitter lips
transforming her semblance
from rock to clouds of summer –
Yes! I had good reason
to suppose that if she were a bed
her springs would pierce out from
the mattress to torture my sleep,
but being still a napkin
her asperity would crack
at the touch of
the first drop
of a kiss.
Beyond Language 
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