Hen chained to her roost,
I stir the pot with wonted fervor,
silencing the wounds from below
with amnesia of the flesh

Fertile thoughts fragment in sight
of daylight’s devoir, but in the dim they
gather and gel in sloozy pools of DNA
as I sleep beside my empty notebook

I bathe in the dew grass of dreamdawn,
butterfly legs trail across ivory pages,
wings soft as lovers eyelash kiss, I’m
married in her bed of feather down petals

At 5:23, I snap awake, the images already
dripping off my skin, draining down to dust
Too weak to yank up the dandelion root,
I am the conductor of a song with no throat

07/15/2005

Posted on 07/16/2005
Copyright © 2024 Leslie Ann Eisenberg