she arches her back as the wine drips
rubies
from her mouth
his tongue
quick, hot, sure
drinks
from her throat
she smiles
he smiles
their eyes meet
and
lifetimes together
lifetimes apart
dissolve
FUCK!
she spits
swiping the table clean with
one sure and
fatal
pass
Have i lived this long only to write romance novels and call it
P O E T R Y????
All your poems tell a story, he once said. Don’t you know that?
Would it matter if I did? Would they be any better if I didn’t?
Today
low-bellied clouds hovered the plains
legless pregnant cattle tossed to the sky
by inveterate, faceless gods
prairie gods
(unknown on his mountain)
grassland gods
with names like
GrannyCorn and OldManCoyote
and Comanche gods who are never
still
long
enough
to be named
This
This
is the peace
you must explain
to all
to everyone
to everyone
but
me
Tonight
the harvest moon floats
high
above the stars, and
the gods,
all
the gods
are silent
as the deer sleep
fattening
each hour for
unnecessary slaughter
to think that you will never
know
this
that you will never
see
this
except
through my eyes
just as
i
will step
sure-footed and silent
‘cross the
stones
of your mountain
only
in dreams
nonsensenonsensenonsense
F U C K I N G
nonsense
Go back to Romance
she says, blood dripping from her claws
At least there
the dreams are
dross
and no one
No
one
cares
©s rogers 25 september 2010
