7 am & the sun

7 am & the sun

is unforgivable. The day arches

dull. This song reeks

of yesterday.  The tarp’s crinkle

is trying to tell you something. 

Morning’s chill light spreads

through the branches of their breath

like a slow river through silt.

They tuck into bridge

folds along the salty slump

of your river.  Between the two

directions of your road

something of her hair

reminds you.

POEM FOR KEATS

I. Man & Woman

Would he complain as she needles

his tongue into the precise

hem of her dress? Still

as the lace sweeping

her breastbone.

Gravity’s staccato’d arch-

enemy.

He records Autumn’s hazel as she floats

him over crabapple trees.

II. The way we open him up

Why are we disturbed

when the butterflies

are not moths? An out

of context blue.

III. Some questions for the man

What is hyper-real about the anticipation

of gravity? A heavy breath before jumping

into the lake. The way water

turns your skin alive.

Is it the body of your dream warming

your bed that finally kills you?  

Are your dreams bodied

when you are finally killed?

Did you think she could wrap

blue velvet around your organs

as the winter minnowed your lungs?