 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
ink
me into
my own fleshy frame
fill out the blanks
in the family line
the fiction of genetic
resemblance
is no more than a hint
at the genesis
of an art
tar me with my own brush
and rat me out
to the powers that blush
tattoo every page
with the dearest wish
you could make
for my skin
compose me to receive
the good news
of a son
I may never have
imagine the brave
engraved look
on his face
as he learns
he is only my last
text of
kin
wed
the dawn
to the horizon
where the sun
has drunk
the ocean
and the bride
drowns her
champagne
in ripened daylight
this is perfect
weather
for the birth
of dreams
tequila moonrise
this is the party's
rightful living
aftermath
when clouds
are hung
over the sand
like liquid paintings
from a new
and shocking school
of boisterous
artists
lapping up
the lavish
dew