Underground and Above

I wake up hard and tight.
The stem is flushed with sap.
It sprouted in the night
from clay and gas and trap.

I don’t recall the dream
that fed the blind taproot.
Perhaps the stud in the steam
taking off his boot?

The plant is strong with blood.
It holds a singular bloom.
It gives and wilts, and buds
again in any room.

Decaying below the ground,
adorable above,
within the flesh are bound
the stalks of lust and love.


*

I am one of three featured readers at the Back Fence on Jan 15 (Sun). If you happen to be in Manhattan that day, do drop by and say hi.

Date: Jan 15, 2006 (Sun)
Time: 3-5 p.m.
Place: Back Fence pub, 155 Bleecker Street (corner of Thompson)
Directions: 6 to Lafayette and Bleecker, 4 blocks west; E, F, B, D, Q, A, C to W 4th St., south to Bleecker and 3 blocks east; N, R to Prince St., north to Bleecker and 3 blocks west.
No cover; 1 Drink Minimum + Tip
Open-mic.

Comments

Rob said…
Jee, for three stanzas this was ticking along nicely, but I thought the conclusion was something of a let-down - if that isn't pushing your metaphor too far. Might just be me who thinks so, mind you.

Happy New Year.

Rob
6:04 PM
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