Friday, April 13, 2007

Tournament Of Nakedness

a collaborative poem with Alicia Marie Howard

On tops of buildings,
our beautiful stones of teeth
between cold scrambled walls

after sullen rain,
muses in their spin,
in endless engines of light,

one loneliness roves.
One of loneliness roves.
A smile needs to tell

the story of the body
even a hand
cannot commit to its fever, but still

can have its way:
the timing is right.
The laws are see-through and

all movement is a ride
on top of head, on palm tree
down the night.

The slide of death
through trick skulls.
We fall into the arms of great sweetness—

Nobody alone.
No body

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