a/n: not my best. But it came from the heart in a torrent of agitation, so it must be worth something.

Mr. Bloom: I was painfully aware of most of what you pointed out in the last two poems prior to their posting. I think I may let those pieces sit in the dark for a while before editing them. The only defense I have is for "Reconciling Matthew" whose subject matter was (and still is) very difficult for me to address properly.


Again with the stampede: another noise
for the silver blades of grass that dance in the humdrum
of the long cattle-hour.

Again a night perforated with the stillettos
of cigarette gale, an exhalation of
nail-polish noir cells, all clamoring in tiny voices
over the nouveau bear-skinned barmaid who lets
field mice rollick in her auburn braids

Again for the brown fiddlebacks nesting
in the platinum straw of her gold mattress, a small wonderchild
like rust-red lines, made with the same
homespun wisdom of handrolled smokes.

Again with the mare you fell in love with
as a boy, old and beat and sour as a bitch
her mane mottled as tarnished brass, bucket-eyes wincing
helpmehelpmehelpmehelp

Again with the restlessness that leeches upon the young
so tempted to burgeon from frank-long thoughts and
tawny may-cat legs

Again, (I wish you'd stop running off to the barn at night)
with that loose-limbed girl from town and her
sharp-kneed uncles and dead sisters and
father-pastors and bearded heart.

Again, she's of the sort- the kind you'd look at and say,
"I'm gonna marry that girl" and mean it; and I'd
be the dumb city chick photographer at your wedding; and I'd
mail you a (rum)cake and write you a song every year
on that day.

Again, I just want to hold a baby like a gun
and shoot you both before you go on and do anything
real stupid (like you and I did at Eric's one time when the lights
were off).

Again, I wanna ask you
to marry me, farmboy

marry this barmaid and the
valleys in my stomach and my
fearsome starless skies, the
tit-mice in my attic and the
nightmares in my thighs

5.21.11