Monday, April 27, 2009

a Garden

we have tried to sew our miseries
to the tree wings of the bumble-bee
and we once slept upon
the caterpillar's rainbow underbelly
while her peacock pupils spun a web of jubilee
and received us, disintegrating
into their illuminated womb--
we almost died poetically, coalescing

without form and within eternity

piously, grotesquely, we cry rust
as the corpse of repentence is burned
a pyramid of roses acts as a primitive casket
and floats like flame upon water
the smell, thick with power and victory
we are holding hands in satiated unity
in the glory of the fleeting sunrise
death all over us, having just gone for a swim

in the left over water of baptism

its so hard most always to melt away
out of existence, into oblivion
and to be wept out of the literal 
eyes of God--
please accept these flowers, every one
adorned in finite-ity
and sucked from the belly of the air
wet with mud and gold

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