Licorice Roots
I want to say, present yourself
See you streaking
In this sour cherry sorrow
If spiced, speckled pickling jars
Or jaundiced, juggled peppers
Are to blame
Blew fire in your heart
If I were to speak now in breeds
Draw out own rains
Yell your sad rendition of revolution
Still, I would be stifled by the smart soot of society
Pubescent parsonage of flamed companion
Your rhyme, rhythmic reason
Would sever the cigarettes I had hated back
The bluest of sewn crystal burrowed in your tongue
Schrewd seed of starved expedition
A bite
Your wet, woolen blink of the wind
In mourning, I too would wish wings
We all wish wings upon our dead
Not in entertaining heavens, hollowing heathens
But in access to an excess of age
Able to edge beyond owned ways
Trump black tears spit in battery
A lacquer licking as wounded as changed time
Such starvation from my licorice roots
Will linger, lie sweated but still
You, our blue-eyed beast
Tantric tale-teller
Will harbor your jalapeño strands
Your red beard never grown ghoulish, or gray
My smallest part will fall with you
Or follow you
My drenched Indian bear
Welled
With taught tears of adoration
I am certain you will mind her there
Wrap her in the rabbit furs of Russian dolls
Push back bent fringe from her eyes
Yawn in the evenings to ascertain
Such somersaulted love
Only you will level with the meaty moons
That will somehow grow her old alone
Without the wicked scent of smoke, or secret sweets
Only porcelain promise
Rather pickled, peppery
A touch of trying
To justify
To juggle life lost
