Canvas houses vent the cat-like peacock's @3shrill@1. All settle now into the vaporous night heating its vial of iridescent rain. Salt cache, salt belt of heat, virgin island. Lizards, one learns, are good for killing insects. Mosquitoes fester where we piss off the porch. Pure eddying waters of memory, Proust, the yellow finch who sips at our ears during naps. Underwater, the feeling enlarged is the feeling. The last days of childhood I biked in our basement where blue skies ripened at night. Sex is the scorpion who disappears between floorboards to live again as a god. Pressure in the inner ear, my self, to steady the bike would be to steady a wave. Seas crossed by winds turn the curving patterns we perceive, probabilities greened. Rain and angels partly explain the parting sky. And the waterfall turning to mist as it leans. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONTRETEMPS by THOMAS HARDY THE JOB by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. ON A LATE CONUBIAL RUPTURE IN HIGH LIFE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MOON-SLANTS by REGINALD LANSING COOK VISIT OF HOPE TO SYDNEY COVE, NEAR BOTANY BAY by ERASMUS DARWIN |