Tuesday, February 10, 2009

a dream of Eurydice

pointed elbows exposing armpits bare,
stripped to the waist with palms stroking hair-

on the desk she rests
spreading pleats sprung fair:

discussing profit and loss
with a dire shriek of blood-
this could have been our savor.

downward, downward, downward.

(is this a pulse or just a flush,
or just a nickle pad of doom,
or just escape from the tethers of swoon,
rappelling off-white into Hades?)

sharply spared of wrinkle,
there are crisp linen panels.

we wince at reports of the Thessalonian drowning

a suitable dirge will have to be composed.

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