Oh, All About The West Wind
She gazes different beauty
Every second. You bury your face
In her dances and tales;
Miming yours she might not. Her legs
Would make her wise and strong
Whether crippled or not,
So you read her the year of forest fires
In a tree stump’s rings, and she
to you a hyacinth scheme.
Where the stonewall husks emerald
From the corner of the meadow,
The four winds inside her grow
Blue crescents with crimson bars.
You want her to rush in all directions.
She tongues your hallucinations.
She softens your eyes with tears,
Tugs off your shirt,
your shorts, your thoughts,
Her sudden shift and her
Green bikini underwear.
All knowledge peers
Between the two of you. Thousands
Of dead souls appear on the hilltop
And repeat their stories.
The pain soothing wintergreen leaf hushes
The star anise tonic flower.
You climb the spiral tower
Of D.N.A. codes where
Light years purify waters
And genetically perfect babies
You could make. Newfound wavelengths
Call out how to graft a tiny pinch of skin
To the center of a healing cut
So it will grow and spread.
Thinking, so this is love
That would feed you and clothe you
And buy you time to recover your destiny,
And never blame you for it,
You halt, whisper and sing
To the descant papillae
In her vagina, her faith.
“Ellipse!
Eclipse! Lips!
I will come back for you.”
Poem # Untitled
Inside the white frame church
Of the unspoken word
Pews shiver like babies
Tattooed with the astral prints
Of prayers
Voices that can be seen be seen
But not herded
And never hurt
Wistfully stain glass windows
With bifurcated images
Diurnal organ pipes
Hum to condition
The spiritual kidneys
And predilections
Of the invisible congregation
Jack-in-the-empty-pulpit
Disappears
With the inevitable truth
That is a lie
Depending on to whom it is told
Poem # Untitled
Crumbled cities whisper poems
to forgotten peoples--
Broken-ended marble stairwells
Mount lost architecture
Wind chime visions
Climb soft overtones to nowhere
Then sink beneath undertones
Of unutterable longing
Gossamer bleats
Transpose the harmonic void of culture
To all possibilities
Exchanging babies with their enemies
So they will never have another war
Stephen A. Rozwenc is a widely published expat poet who lives in Thailand. He has published 6 collections of poetry. In the last 12 years more than 300 of his poems have been published in journals and online venues in the United States, Europe, and southeast Asia. He is the first poet in the history of American literature to publish all of his work after the age of 65.
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