Sunday, May 6, 2012

On Writing Poems When Older

Had I only written poems
When my young cock
Engorged with vital blood
Reached towards the center of womanhood
Through gates of velvet
Gardens of orchids
Finding the pearl at the center
Now these eternities
Sit dusty in a row
Perfect snowglobes
I have not looked at
Or shaken in years

Had I only written poems
When my tender young mouth
Made McDonald’s
Taste like real food
When my inner furnace
Turned grease and poison
Into energy and love
Instead of fat and self-loathing
When I was so alive
I could forget to eat for a day
Or eat enough for two of me
And be no different

Had I only written poems
When my almond eyes
Saw only the good
Squinting against the brightness
I would have lacked
The contrast the years bring
The cool beauty of rainy days
Greater love of light
As the shadows lengthen
My poems like wine
Sweeter for having rested in their cask
Stronger than the juice of youth

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