The Beggar Poet's Hexagram 54: The Marrying Maiden

[stevef]

If I had the capacity to get under your skin,
collude with pulse timed with need,
expand into space beyond limits-


a dying son, a father’s heartache,
a hollow
where no one can find a way out-


harmonize the scarlet tip,
the red centre and the crimson lake
in flood,
aching for fresh meat,
what could I bring forth?


I
will do what I want:


carve initials in statues
and squeeze nectar from mountain orchids.


I will have
what I want:


the future
in a looking glass, the past
in a flame
and the present between my fingers.


I
will become whatever lengthens tomorrow:


a bud furled tightly before pink blossom,
a dewdrop sparkling in heat,
a snowflake resting on coals


luminous flight the day after.


I shall write anything
I feel:


the lip sucker’s appetite
for running water close to your bones


“Carry me over the threshold.
Carry me”


an egg opening and giving life
to a lupine ghost bound for tasty ligaments


I’ll swallow you whole,
turn gravy
into wine


an unctuously pleased confidante smearing clouds
with secrets the universe will want to know


I want to go on
in love with embedded condiment,
blood rising and release


defiant of decay, demise
and inevitable decline
of all that I hold dear
sing when the fire is burning,
heap praise
on accomplishment
when the earthbound feel the loss
of a friend




whistle a merry tune when a neighbour’s house
is broken into.