Poultry Stories

If she were standing naked by the window Staring off at the light of concentration yards Across the river and the same light were dancing Like blue savages down the lines of her body Turning just so while tin music of a distant radio falls Like snow falling through the weary radiance of street lights – If I could walk down that dangerous alley between her arms Drawn to her mouth as if it were full of moonlight And touch h...

I wonder if she notices, In certain times when darkness softens And the hard edges of silence Turn our whispers crystalline When she curls my body Into the silk parenthesis of her arms Laying tiny rivers of breath on my skin, How I crumple like an unread love letter, Old, yellow parchment Peppered with the mad scrawl Of some wild, hungry heart Gone destitute on the kisses Of moonlight’s only daughter. She is where I go to...