The Poetry Of.
Doug Richardson...........................................
About a Girl
Shall I compare you to a 40?
You are more intoxicating and more sultry.
All sacred guile and ancient heat.
Yes! Both virgin and widow.
You scheme and grieve on a bed of asphalt
Miles from wheat or corn.
I am the mystery priest and the mysterious joker.
I get wasted in the church dirt by the liquor barn.
I sit idle on the toilet of someone else's mansion.
So full of it I am.
So naive is your tattoo.
But we have a secret:
You remove the blanket from your lap,
Reveal what can be etched.
I sit on the floor, hatless, legs twisted under.
You look at the rug for a while.
You go outside in search of grass.
I leave for a while, too, to reconsider everything.
But I always come back
And together we take our pills
And kiss like malignant candy.
About a Painting
Passing by the painting
Of a bee on some lemons
I'm leering at the women
With the peaches in their pants.
Museum guide says warning,
I can sense your bad intentions.
Allow me to assist you,
Guide the lewdness from your mind:
In the other rooms are sculptures
Like clouds among windows.
In this room are paintings
On walls like the sky.
At the top is a hole
Where the sun passes over.
Your neck becomes a periscope,
The sky becomes your brain.
Far beyond this structure is
A beehive on a mountain.
You look across the valley,
A bee is flying over,
Flying toward the mountain
With some lemon and some pollen
Bulging on its legs
Like some peaches in its pants.
About Rain
Hawks' nest in the radar tower
Disintegrating.
He is wandering.
His head receives a crown
Of falling thorns.
A black feather.
A touch of gore.
He echoes on the radar screen of lore
Like the sound of a thousand cell phones
Set to Beethoven.
