WANDERER

my feet are shadows
like patches of dark new hair
splayed flat
across the long plain.
evening moans,
rubs its fat black cheeks
and uncurls—

the wind in the clefts
of the bloodswollen madrones;
the whisper of thunder
in the shade of the coulee
like a great red womb
bellyaching to
let loose.
when I look on the long plain
I am full as new flesh—
to each glimmering burg I say,
I shall visit you each.

my heel sucks away
from the road, then
blue dust flakes
like suckling babes
away from
the white breast of earth:
sifting upward
in the gloam.

CONJECTURE

If
your woman’s legs
are long and smooth,
she will wear heels.

Men’s eyes
love
a woman in heels.

If
men’s eyes were hands,
your woman would
be another man’s.

Your woman’s legs,
are they not
long and smooth?

WILD

Tigress,

I sip
shadows from your skin,
peeling
the dark tongues
until
the blue muscle
is flayed open:
succulent.

My blood hisses
against the
white jags of
tooth and claw—
I whisper
this is moonlight.