DRUG Waking one summer morning in New England, I remembered the breasts of the girl in my dream My hands still with the feel of clutching the round subway strap I stand still. Life moves on Her eyes remind me of an owl In the darkness, my love for her crawls quietly through weed-filled fields The owl dives noiselessly Her mouth holds my tongue Long hairy legs clamp tight--my cry of horror explodes in the moment of love This is the drug I imbibe each day a woman I love madly Her skin is whiter than mine She has grace, elegance. Her fingers caress my skin always with tenderness But nightmares come when love is deepest Their memory whips my face pushes me seven different directions then pieces me back together and sends me loving in the constant, violent dreams of my sweaty bed Loving, hard work which rejoices my spirit, tires and confuses my body--I realize I'm addicted Such is life in the New England summer Violence, love, terror. When I open my mouth my tongue, that's used to tasting words tastes a pair of small breasts I feel poetry and the drug all mixed together. They boil and bubble in the seven celestial areas of my body I move on--my life stands still. I love that woman, such grace, such elegance She teaches me to give up poetry She teaches me, in her flesh, in my fatigue and loss, in such desperate loneliness and in her love full of terror and hysteria suddenly to see and to understand the truth of myself and also of the thing I'm so deeply addicted to Next |
The East Village Poetry Web Xue Di |