Friday, October 06, 2006

I’ve gone

looking for the scent of you
in words
and I’ve gone looking
for the reason you
live in words. There’s

nothing to touch except to touch

and a blade of grass tickles my cheek.
Not dead, my body feels misplaced
against this slope where the sun is really
looking for grapes/not

anything beyond a reason to survive seems
too much for the table/too much
for the chairs arranged to catch Marie Platz—
an ego away
from—I know the sound
of a chevy engine breaking downtown open wide looking for
you—looking for the speed of you—

looking for the pedestrian way.

1 comment:

Peter Garner said...

Post this at the oasis, where we can get a crack at it. Its is worthy.