Thursday, January 11, 2007


He digs himself in until entwined
in loose wisps of my windblown brain
while January pierces the sternum of
her hunched charges running to and fro
from granite obelisk to the web of damp tunnels and trains.

The city is a Freudian dream …
the countryside favors a Euclidian proof
and nature’s complex repetitions
and partitions and unifications of
angles acute, right and obtuse.

The city is endless rectangles, cubes,
and lopsided love triangles
which evolve into pentagrams
and turn themselves inside
out on those who traced them
in fleshy absentia.

Where is your geometry, baby?
Why so many angles?
I invoke protective circles
but your voice always gains
the border. You permeate
my molecules, you infect and you spread.
You don’t deserve my fever
and yet I’m laid out,
burning to the touch and
shivering, shivering, shuddering
while January blows me
to and fro across bridges
and into rectangles.

You’re harder than street drugs,
your euphoria shorter.
You chase me through the dreamscape,
and then you always drive my car.
How did you get my keys?

Go away. Go to the opposite hemisphere.
Go away but come home soon.


Anonymous said...

Sounds like the dude is grating on your nerves - guys are sharper leaving scratches and skin irritations - we're pretty lost dear Jennifer - we have little notion of the softness and innerness of things. But we are in the mix and vulnerable to needing sweet gentle girlie softness..

I love your poem - perception of a man whoever he is.


Jane said... can't be talking about w are you???????? I was sure that would be your topic of the day.

La Sirena said...

Gracias, SeƱor HD.

You are correct -- I'm feeling rather chafed and tender.

La Sirena said...

Ma --
Bush warrants a warrant for treason, impeachment, an indictment by the world court, instant karmic retribution, etc., but not one stanza of poetry shall he have from me. Pearls before swine!