“Belly”
My belly is a small town
in which I dwell
in earthly celebration.
The sign and symbol
of all my delights.
My belly expands in
depth and precision
like lines of poetry
crafted from morning
coffee, without boundary
or superstition or delay.
The end of my days will
be filled with it, admiring,
amused in its verse.
Ode to belly, my west
wind, my intellectual beauty,
my mean flower and ruined
abbey, my Mont Blanc.
Like Ben Bulben it towers
over Yeats’ endless witticism.
Watch it issue forth, this
belly, this happy occasion,
let loose on the world
let loose your imagination,
see my child smile, see the
growth of his soul, the hand
of my lover in caress.
My belly follows me into the
bath. I magnify its eloquence.
Its space and strength respond
heartily to my Yes.
“Between Contradiction”
Between the black bishop and the white
is an ecstasy of disobedience.
A question mark sits round and plump like
my belly, at the edge of precipice, obstinate,
like words written by Gertrude Stein.
“Callous”
A tuft of odd skin
wrung hand pulled tight
a consciousness of body
from the very beginning
emerges like an insect nest
quickly built then washed away.
An extravagance of skin
regret an aching, aging vibration
fingertips balance the bald universe
hold unfelled trees up straight
tend to children and dying flowers.
We pull and beg and grip and swear
we mourn ourselves ugly
mourn ourselves lost, mourn
shamefaced an emboldened caress
we enchant and scoff
hold fast a ridicule, we find apex
in a parody of the unseen.