Basil in the window
Shifting in molar, sliding shove ways
I see the day for what it is
What song are you?
How is it, world dwellers, that we human so well
And still eat the night so that it will in turn swallow us?
The dark, a cheval glass, spoke the volumes we needed
For intimate solitude and a resounding hand check
The silence made us stone deaf with want
The emergence of our renaissance
catechizing our throats in the heat
The trees burst like overripe oranges
Each breeze a torpedo, a lesson for the contented, rested, untroubled.
Metallic crunch no lunch close your door it’s dark and they are coming for your television.
Sigh in amorous eve, close to what we need
Pestle the tight spots, bruise the tradition
Take only the most tasteless of pictures
In the mind’s eye of the storm
There is a quiet, quiet clue
A hushed doctrine, spoken in some ancient tongue
It whispers of secrecy, nectarines, and the wind.
I closed my eyes so tight I saw stars.
Got so naked I felt the inside of the womb
Sweated so endearingly, I became a pillar of salt
Danced so hard I was ecstasy, Holy Ghost!
A lover zealot, a rain shaked parodist, a libidinous priest, torpid, hot, pious.
The score was populated with strings, crickets
and the oldest religions.
I thought how nice it would be to kiss your eyes.