Tuesday, April 25, 2006
from the inimitable, innovative, po-generous Amy King * :
Playing the Universe
She cannot pass through his bones so accepts his hair and hands. She wonders if his teeth tast the spine of her sight. Her wrists clasp behind his neck, giving his fire a shape. He smiles back at the singed bark of her life nearby, a cat walks in front of the sun gaining light. They have been in Mexico, inhabited their own cells, bartered and fused them with others, and still, dirt and sky are not enough. The promise of paradise pushes to sleep. A gleaning night opens into nothing, a nothing as invisible as a million leagues behind the sea-house where a non-existent devil dances on their heads unaware. After piano keys, he will fall from flesh by morning. They open their eyes on hot summer days to play each vacated pore, silently in song.
(39)
* Amy King, Antidotes for an Alibi (BlazeVOX,2005)
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