January  2003

Breathtaking

 

You hit me like snacks

Fresh out of a can

Ready, undressed for bed.

The sharpness of your rinds

Sit new-aged like tea

Left to steep, intense thought,

Your concentration

A tincture of acerbic

Nature and warmth.

 

Your plain underwear comes

With its own imagination,

No labeling or brand loyalty

Just the skin of you to ponder.

 

Identity stretches over you

Better than a lyrical siren sigh,

Not a heaving chest full

But the flutter of silk puffs.

 

You make up the final

Satisfaction of a lofty trail,

Peace that follows endurance,

Wide blue-orange residues

On tempered metals,

Wider than breathtaking

Beryllium blue highlands.

 

 

Curvature

 

Its me, flirting with you like death,

A Nixon nuke alert, isolation taking

Its toll, a desert philosophy borne

Up by the same lost currents that

Hold a dull yellow star in a window.

I Bear up the totem of total fence

Post and scrub brush frontier where

I sit with my abstinence, the small

Peckered birds stacked against me.

 

I interrupt myself, hear my voice

Before I finish talking, global delay,

The world line getting there before

I can adjust to your tin can holler,

Need to pipe down, whisper that

Sensible nature over a pillow hump

In reach of your tender ear fuzz,

The breath tickling over the bare

Minimal threshold of your lust.

 

Tao Jackpot

 

End of the line, last stop on the tour

Buttercups and daisies forever

We are the road dust on the apples.

From here on I shall come to you

A tragedy of onions and indigestion

Dyspepsia pending on the mind

Your rainy fungal hat in the spring

Stumbling forest log in summer

Autumn puff ball of snuff in your eyes

A winter switch that slaps your face.

We’ve struck the Tao jackpot, dear

Forgetting that we once learned to

Live a perfectly natural way of life.

©Jimmy Warner, 2003