Monday, July 27, 2009

July


During its fiercest 

moment fire flies 

across a highway:

a soubresaut by 

Merce Cunningham.

His hot body leaps 

forward with feet 

pointed and legs 

together. And just 

moments before

the blue lick sparks, 

by no particular storm,

lightening bugs my dog

Friday, July 24, 2009

Sleep Tight

Sleep Tight


Why blame the skin - 

it does not have legs

so it cannot crawl 

or slither when the midnight 

hour calls the bug to slide

out of its baseboard. 

Darkness is her silent 

dinner bell. Each night 

it beckons more uninvited 

guests to dine amidst four 

hundred count linen. Polishing 

off in silver service, feasting 

on the unsuspecting, hosting 

on the host. They tuck into 

our body banquet, sipping ichor, 

gorging well past a gentile sufficiency.  

Suck it up - we all can agree -

reduces us to a meal ticket 

with welts and resulting hives: 

not the sweet home 

of productive bees, merely the itch

of secreted secretions traded 

for a sustenance that we hope

to squash before each 

beastie creeps away.