Saturnine

It's October again
for Mothers and sons,
and whoever wearing
Violence, it becomes.

[Oh bitterness]

Oh bitterness
you watch a horse.
and I
wouldn't be surprised

if you didn't answer
the asked question?

Molested.

A white pressed
jungle rest-bed?

[I cannot]

I cannot
make this palatable,
I'm sorry.

and I won't lie
when you're distracted with it
I'll escape
with a lock, cut from your head.

Keeping a locket
under featherbeds.

[I just want to feel your touch]

I just want to feel your touch
gently.

and hard.

and running down
your stippled skin
i am
a cautious hand.

a Lucite Spyglass

This weekend, I identify with things in the air
like Polaris, or the muted clouds.

My empathy, now in intestate,
and bearing the brunt of a placid state
ingratiating solar dust.

Apprise

In your mouth i sense your lapse,
like a migrating trout or asp,

whose upstream trek is hard to climb,
and sees his own penultimate demise.

Maurice Maeterlinck

The morning finds
with no surprise
no surprise.

And straining through the view I'll try
to prise a vista
with my human eyes.