My cobalt blue chuchoteur.
This is how.
Or how I see you
from the inside out.
Two discussions.
One, rained asphalt waking—
that between my dreams and your reason.
And the staggering rain which stammers.
Cerulean hands bold at the neck.
Braver still at the back.
Fingers the blue jean small.
The architecture of air is invisible fragments
silicon or binary circuits untangling
their way through the broken.
You could be a blue room.
You could spread out, place your things.
I could place things ringing inside you.
Linger is an ease through whispers.
Wooden floors. Indigo floorboards.
Cobalt blue cream.
My blue chuchoteur.
This is how I loved you
from the let go inside out.
nick of the woods
*
you are, as always, something
to read
you are burning arrow in the rain
you are an ambush
from the injun's perspective
peaceful obligation
never stops ticking
(bombom)
an adverb creeping
in detestable woods
you could tell the truth
you could tell
you are
the advancing Shawnee
the novel one—
surrounded
yet entirely alone
*
tell grandfather's cherokee grandmother.
or his wife's choctaw great grandma.
tell yourself there are friends
religiously similar and wide
*
but let's get strung up
in the laws of settlements
it will make us feel better
it will be like the half comma
the poet sighs is line break
*
oh authority neither horse
nor cow nor dog
you will not break
nor will I
the uproar and collision
produced by every gust.
Deborah Poe's work was nominated for Pushcart Prizes this year and last. Her writing has appeared recently in Drunken Boat as a finalist for the Panliterary Awards, Anemone Sidecar, and the anthology Fingernails Across the Chalkboard: Poetry and Prose on HIV/AIDS From the Black Diaspora. Her manuscript Our Parenthetical Ontology is slated for publication in November 08 with CustomWords. Her chapbook and zine, ,,clitoris,, ,,vulva,, ,,penis,, and (W(e)a(St) Solo, were published in 2004 by furniture press.