Won't you have a peach?
There's a tree, twisted, moans.
its limbs broke off
this last frost
that shuddered and shook.
There's a tree, its arms snapped
Dangling over smooth, smeared waves
like silk fire.
Won't you have it?
I found it myself
where wind heaves moist blue voices
and dry sheaves flap, dead
just this round ball
drowned in rotten silent moss
furious root empires rise
white in the dusk drawn moon
a liquor radiates through black milky clay
flesh gurgles, twisted songs
Won't you eat this peach, every bite?
I stood a long time in my garden
on the wet swing
and stole it
all for you.
2. FISH BOWLS
You stand at the foot of blind patrons,
their buckshot brocades,
their cups filled with black wine.
An accordion player wheezes to a halt.
A raven flops to a rest in his hat,
begins a drowsy waltz, laudanum polka.
Give me some water from the bottle of your eyes,
my precious fish
They covet my dream's fabric
an orange, spread eagled
in a scaffold's embrace.
A child cries
under this oily petticoat