Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Retarded Poet

I held her throat all night.
    No bruises.

Stars were singing all night
    in a violet ring
        with a little pink microphone.

There was bad news from Mars
    roses freezing in carbon dioxide
Bad news under my brain
    bare nerves reaching for anything
        like a lizard's fingers
at the top of her spine
    where a lizard was thinking.