I want to describe your body.
........
(Yannis Ritsos)
I want to describe the rustle
of larkspur where my eyelashes stutter-
step across the plump underside
of your breasts in their blind upheaval,
the slick-walled glottal abyss
of your languid growlings, your belly's light
cloud gathering teeth and raindrops.
Your stretch the great blue
heron rising
from ponderosa pine
to a lone oboe
lowing;
your body a geology of songlines
and grottoes,
and the stoned seduction
warbling of meadowlarks on fenceposts.
Your sex is a Kansas sunflower,
a pool of sunfish,
and cornsilk.
THE NATURAL STATE
ain't nothin' but grit & the will to live
that comes from havin' a daughter
to feed, protect from Christians, &
expose to the ways of her tribe.
I ain't gonna raise her fearin' Hell
& no prescriptive morality will
substitute for simple curiosity &
kindness: this child will clean up
highways, dance to Dylan & wood-
thrush, paint the world's lichens &
land on Mars, perhaps- the first
of her kind. it's easy enough to walk
away, as old buddies begin to die
& the body seems suddenly fat &
unappealing, altogether fragile;
sex no longer triumphant, but
tentative, a hedge against mortality,
more woodwind than brass, & slow-
more dolce than allegro, desire
an embarrassment I'm forgiven.
& there are times when spendin'
the rest of my days alone tempts me,
someone inside me itchin' toward
hermit- likely an early death in these
Colorado mountains, but a guarantee
of dyin' up there! where my bones
may never be found & I can sleep
knowin' that my body's last act
is to feed somethin' hungry. this
natural longing a state of mere
indulgence, I know. it's just that
caves, deep forests & woodsmoke exert
their considerable appeal: Han Shan,
Everett Reuss, Tom Bombadil, Buddha
famished in the woods eating crowshit,
Lew Welch, Henry David, the Chink,
or Lancelot naked in his hairy madness.
for now, tho', I will feed this woman &
this little girl & my own fat two-twenty
by laboring, like other men, for wages.
I'll let this man inside me remain
there, it's enough that I have his face-
his beard, the clean but disheveled
grey hairing over his ears.
ain't nothin' but grit & the will to live
that comes from havin' a daughter
to feed, protect from Christians, &
expose to the ways of her tribe.
GRIST
Find me in the heretical utterance,
the splinter on the cross, in scree,
in things doubtful and impermanent.
Find me rough and jagged, never
smooth; find me farting, jacking off.
Find me flush with warts and lipoma.
Find me unbeautiful, grotesque, four-
eyed, chipped of tooth, geek-freckled
and raggedy-ass bearded. I am droop-
bellied, closing in on portly. Where
the boulder splits, the columbine roots,
where temples and other permanent &
lousy structures are useless & unwelcome.
