Desire is the bull. He is heavy with muscle and blind with instinct. He wants to eat, mate, slobber and, should the opportunity arise, run us through with his dirty horns. He can not be blamed for any of it. We admire his simplicity, fertility, and power. He scares the living daylights out of us. The following text is about desire. I write to feel the power of creation, destruction, control. Writing gives me what I can not have in life and delivers me from the agony of domesticity.

Friday, June 09, 2006

Erosion

Sonic boom.
The gunpowder lifts
its angel’s head,
blurts smoky incantations,
reeks of lizard
caught in a close tank.

What sweet dreams
it gleans off a shimmering rock
twinkling in orange morning light.
Vaporized with a distant,
echoing crack,
the hard burning exclamation
that follows,
its point shearing
a small nick
down the rock’s curved back.

A finch shrieks,
rude, breathes hard,
ruffles dew off its feathers
and flies.

posted by Shiny at 5:55 AM

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