I was trying to repair the world

I was trying to repair the world
with words, to fill the gaps with syllables
of every vowel, to illumine her
with verbiage deftly elaborated.

I am trying to remind the world
of her that understands it, trying to show
the form beneath the manifest faces,
the Moon and not just the finger pointing.

Somewhere in this expressive verse is hid
the fragrance of the incommensurate
mother that gives being to everything.

Somewhere in the poetry is a salve
that solves my self, and I can only hope
that it reveals a little for an other.

I've lived a messy life for a long time

I've lived a messy life for a long time―
beads of sweat, disease, some clothes in tatters
on the floor. My mind itself dissolved
with Sun in Sagittarius. I thought that I

had died. My friend had said it was just like
I went through a door and couldn't get back.
Smelly dreads―hair that's falling out
and dancing in the open car windows―

the animals like it. A malefic
rules my chart from the 12th house; illusions
move about me, new translations of

a sutra from the East. O put me back―
or forward―to what's surely meant to be
my duty, put me in a poet's form.

A movement of the air about her heart

A movement of the air about her heart,
the heaving tide of spirit in her breast
amused me. When the words came out her mouth
I wanted to get my hands on her thighs,
my thoughts of her alone. This maddening love
deludes me now, clouds my perceiving eyes

with her diverse forms. Her blue-grey eye
is a door and hallway to her heart
which is the seat of an effulgent love.
I put my body to hers, grab her breasts
beneath her clothes, know the contour of thigh
by passing against it my open mouth.

Singing this song, I shape and move my mouth
to then articulate a word. The eyes
of others on her, watching a dance of thighs,
a music saying what it is the heart
knows. Sometimes when I expand my breast
inhaling air to express the sure love

I have inside me, I find that this love
is mover of all things. Perhaps God's mouth
articulates the world, His changing breast
breathes life into us all. Perhaps His eyes
are our eyes, His heart is our warm heart
defining our center. Still, her thighs

stoke in me a desire; one soft thigh
receives my poetry. I am in love,
or falling at least, somewhere that my heart
has never been, somewhere that my wet mouth
has not spoken of. I open my eyes
to find above me her simple, nude breasts.

I move my tongue to find a word―her breast
pushes into me, between her thighs
I find myself. Disclosed before my eyes
is all I've ever known and ever loved,
is the only word that comes out of my mouth
when I am acting from within my heart.

O blossomed breast! O object of my love!
Move your thighs―ripe fruit―about my mouth,
give to mine eye song worthy of your heart.

I was trying to note where the Sun

I was trying to note where the Sun
had set the night before. A crescent Moon
lingered on the horizon amongst stars
in constellations; diffuse, milky clouds
condensing in the spectacle as rain.
This broad and moving stream of gradient light

unfolding overhead. Is it the light
of consciousness knowing itself? The Sun
becomes obscured by movements of rain―
pink, grey, purple, maroon. The Moon
reminds me of words or strings of clouds
in grammars. Once I heard in the stars

were letters, even numbers. Then a star
communicated its still, distant light
that I interpreted beneath the clouds.
I'm figuring the writing of the Sun
across the heavens, or the path the Moon
takes as a herald of the cleansing rains.

I want to know when it is going to rain
or where Jupiter is within the stars
that whirl about me. It's like they're the moons
about my self, singing systems of light
about my soul. Being a sovereign Sun,
I orchestrate the movement of a cloud

across the face of earth. A word―a cloud
that is the syntax carrying the rains
up from the gulf. I see now where the Sun
eclipses other luminaries. Stars
are lost in the ubiquity of light
that she provides, the overflowing Moon

can testify to it. Below the Moon
I make myself an astrolabe; the clouds
give color to the bent celestial light
telling me if tomorrow it will rain.
Among the language of the turning stars,
none moves with quite the scope of our Sun,

the sentiment of Moon, wetness of rain
from broad clouds, beauty of the stars
whose light gives love to all―blessed Sun.

Your body when it's given up to me

Your body when it's given up to me
reminds me of violas. I can hear
the music of a flautist, the soft pad
of feet on the floor boards. The way you move

your belly up and down to breathe is like
the rise and fall of tides. I find comfort
in the quiescence of a nonresponse,
in her cool and reposed demeanor.

I think of he who gives his body to
the ocean in a dive, who gives the Sun
a form to illumine, know and accept.

Receive me like the hands receive the host,
the ears receive the voice; receive me with
your body like the eye receives the world.

July the 5th; heresiarchs at play

July the 5th; heresiarchs at play
with phrases. Intellective prophecies
mercurial in character. I say
the words inspired of me, speak the verse

breathed into me by weather. Pressurized
air masses in conflict--summer's a time
of home and hearth, maternal in its wet,
expressive business. Full with verdant green,

the hills look ripe with love; a dew collects
on tender plants, a doctrine spurns the growth
of river oaks. My natal situation

makes me the instrument of mysteries
sacred and ridiculous, order revealed
amongst a labyrinthine playing mind.

There weren't any words for her. I found

There weren't any words for her. I found
a list of nonwords in the dictionary;
the Hierophant and other tarot cards
strewn on the floor. She read my heart the way

a fortune teller reads the lines of palms
or mystics divinate with chicken bones.
Apophasis: I refuse to word
an argument for her, or make a map

illuminating borders because I
know mysteries can never be revealed.
Besides, what would I do if I had seen

all of her then? What would desire be
without more to attain? Where would I move
if my beloved were a static noun?