pine series
Crumpled in the soot
of the loblollies your found
art, I wiped clean the grey ash from her skin,
leaving only her eyes ringed with kohl
already stunted
by your memory.
I did not blame the rain as you have,
implying that we shrink like wool.
I looked for you in the sap-
veined pines, in the lightning, cracking the ink stained sky.
cast next to the abandoned dishwasher, full of a torn Jesus,
my sap body, strewn,
kudzu invading the space between his smile and my broken arm.
through the drenched pines,
You watched me dance,
like smoke rising, undulating with the wind
your southern Cleopatra, touched
by your rusted forklift hands
made to scrape earth and my body.
those hands that can never create only
break down emotions, like dirt,
like this forest, clear-cut of desire.
of the loblollies your found
art, I wiped clean the grey ash from her skin,
leaving only her eyes ringed with kohl
already stunted
by your memory.
I did not blame the rain as you have,
implying that we shrink like wool.
I looked for you in the sap-
veined pines, in the lightning, cracking the ink stained sky.
cast next to the abandoned dishwasher, full of a torn Jesus,
my sap body, strewn,
kudzu invading the space between his smile and my broken arm.
through the drenched pines,
You watched me dance,
like smoke rising, undulating with the wind
your southern Cleopatra, touched
by your rusted forklift hands
made to scrape earth and my body.
those hands that can never create only
break down emotions, like dirt,
like this forest, clear-cut of desire.