Owls With Their Presence

Through woodlands grave I drag the bloodied bag, fettered,
Soaking up the infected chainlink and twigs, a stumpy baggage
Of swatted flies roosting in the carrion.

Some tatters prove spumy, the elephant’s foot leaks,
A Soyuz clump of frazzled matter. You're a hiroshima shadow;
In your little glob of a heart is a mountain of bison skulls.

Icelandic sorcerers will spread your name, in due time;
They’ll say you attached yourself, like a diver
To the tail of a passing comet--

A cauldron bleak from where I see it..
The budding thing betwixt us pushed back like a blitz,
A fondling of inane memories, la mer demanded..

I look down your body, ravined like a red sea,
Indistinct from osteospermums and jasper rocks.
Ahead, the hurdles of brown trees split, sycamores

Abhorring me as a guttural gulf, an abyss of shame
And sexuality therein. I, of course, know my truth--
It it as hot as a brand peeling off my chest with its stick:

I did it, in front of these Jovian friends, molten witnesses
To the wilted. Periwinkles jump ship from the plastic,
Which is a heavy weight, dragged like a handkerchief.

Blood of christ, blood of lamb-- the fruitage is your pearl.
Swarthily, the black bag of a storm cloud, mixed tawny,
Falls from a funeral gallop like a dot to the ground;

Now I'm a spider the way i sit, on this hissing bench,
My chin on my fist, surveying hundreds, the natural world
At large; thin things that i suppose to be people.

Owls with their presence are half-flesh and clock-faced,
And their heads are magnets which I accrue--
But the gluttonous love comes up off of you.

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