Dervish
hung herself:
from the hose
like a pendent –
slung back neck,
sweat in the hammock
of spine.
her exquisite body
ratcheting –
against the pull,
of cotton filled hose
Her audience below,
where strut winged souvenir seller,
carry mini-flags,
a sequined afterglow,
in dry-throat disciples
waiting the dipsomania
of her dance off.
In
the Yellow Hour
I counted eleven
yellow rabbits counting
seven beats of yellow
pupils in a lizard stare
shattering into yellow
skeletons, the obese daffodils,
yellow habits
no longer neatly laundered,
the hanging yellow
suits on yellow head pins
of tickets handwritten
by an owner of yellow
nails and skin
that smells yellow-a scent
wood expels when cleft
by the yellow-handled
axe that cuts
into the orchard thighs;
in the yellow kitchen
unaware, she watches
the lard drippings yellow.
Verandah
Sitting, ankles
crossed
navel extended
looking down
on the boards.
Where many
feet have trod
where backs
have rested
chairs scraped
where splinters
erupt.
Sitting ankles
crossed
staring down
the horizon
where feet,
backs and chairs
fall through
wispy knots.