Green with Wanting

Here is a child      wanting a pool back
wanting all the poetry books at once      She is
not sick

She is not fever-rich

She juts out into the world    so her hand
any may safely explode
as a nature

She can’t buy all the poetry books

She has a different kind of money

She is a strider          Admire her

So she goes with all the trees     All hold their arms
high        open to the freezing cold matters
in the thing called a woods

She but      no longer a girl

She walks between them     All the insane openness
of the arms                         A cold bitter

A martini of cold
With an olive of colder

It is a madness of the trees

God, the earth is a mattress

and nothing more

 

 

 

Poem for the Stars

Fire spits
at us — lovingly

fire forges
cultures
forgets
cultures

Under the firebird
we sat,
on a lawn of fire
burning a midnight’s
crawling skin

*

Fire never forgives
instead vanishes

fire lives somewhere
in the middle

of earth

waiting to be called

sad genie