My Love

And today against everything the dry well at the bottom of the heart
An incomplete deck of playing cards sleeps in the clenched jaws
Of a monk’s severed hand: I mean … . Oh well … . My Love … .
The bruise will stop by later as I walk in the real world but (again)
Into its deserts, its absurdities

 
0
Kudos
 
0
Kudos

Now read this

THE TRICKSTER

Chapters of my life. I watch them pass as leaves break Through the avenues of wind That wash over the Harlem. Who are you that have extinguished the light Of what I have come to seek? Heat collects on the wasted vines of the wild grape,... Continue →