Tell Me What It's LIke

Tell me what it’s like

To slap a Byzantine insistence

Into definition. You know? So that

I can understand it. The thrust

Of the alligator into the river

Is nothing less than a parable

Of itself looking for dinner

But what I meant to say is acoustical

Like the pulse of a violet sky

Dripping from my brain. The hand

Is evidence of fingers, but the squeeze

Of my arms around you is meant

To convince you that I like you

A lot and if I see a bug play a concertina

I will tell you about it with bells

And innuendo. I will suckle the light

From a headlight and make love to you

While gravity thickens around us

In prophecy and the world spins

Into Wednesday which is my favorite

Day of the week except for Thursday

Friday and Saturday. Monday is damaged

By walking around on Sunday

Waiting to happen. And Sunday

Is obviously unconcerned. Once

I heard a pharmaceutical occur

To my body and fill my mind

With abstraction. It made me want

To write you a letter and hang

Upside down. Someday I hope

To fill a kiss with your lips

Entangled in a thousand themes

Of reckless abandon. Watch me sway

With the wind. I like to float around

In my head like a world but does it

Have a jaw of gold? No but it squirts fog

Like a metaphor assembled for winter