"voice"

 

voice

 

 

poem

hes whispering in my ear, in a language,

in words syllables & sounds, i hear but

dont understand but i do, & hes got an indio

face, hes abt 17, maybe, a wood indio

face, & hes pouring words down

my ear, have some rum he says,

handing over a brown paper bag,

we're sitting on the front steps, i've just

finished fucking saying goodnight

to my boyfriend, an extraordinary

artist, his drawings are all over

my walls, i have that effect on him, come on

he says, taking me down the road,

                                its a night

w/electricity, i know cause the

posada is open, he takes me down the road

thru the field w/long wild reeds first its

dark then we have the moon, hes carrying a machete

talking talking down my ear, no one has

ever talked down my pores like this wood demon

from a lost world,

kissing dark in the road, & at the posada by

the sea, but you cant see it, just the mural of naked

bodies by the door, & the bulletin board

w/ reglas para los companeros para limpiarlo

& a room w/ 1 big bed & wood headboard, tile floor,

fan on ceiling, sink, toilet, and we throw

off what there is of our clothes, & come

 

 

 

from "Playland"

 

Steve CannonTribes