Boots and loons

drunk poetry

my mouth's tattooed upon these sheets
in drops of red and kisses of a peony;
it's easy to foresee winter when your heart's
as weary and icy as an angered dream-
yet these boots beneath me tell a tale
of unbroken promises
and summery dreams;
I could stay like this till kingdom come,
wrapped in comfort and joy and
now's angelic moans,
all numb with delight and fright
and endless warnings of the clock;
my spine's made out of rocks,
while my hands tremble in the ivory
sunshine-is this the descent into madness
I must witness every seven days?
though I'm a bird,there is a cage
which lawfully and willingly I have agreed
to take as shelter-
if only I knew then the price of my gilded
prison...
there's a circus to be conducted on every lane
and a lunatic to be rescued in every pair of eyes
that strangers carry with themselves
on the subway,through the streets,in myself...
silence,your truth is deafening!
through boots and loons,I carry my own prophecy...