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The Courage of Speaking Up
That baby's pink squeal for the tit, hunger
insolvent, an obstinate country. Or
the marvelous snarl of a sated fox
after its feast of taciturn rabbit.
Mountains open upon their dependants
a volcanic outrage- magma aglow like
the mind's light, orange-red, alchemical.
The screech of sea birds over lifeless men,
the mouths of mermaids the drowning have heard.
After her bundle to rub for nine months,
all the inquisitive visitors come
into fecal air. This child's true belly
padded with milk. The bossing ache heavy
in her cot, or on all fours. Cloth diapers
in the ovoid basket: a demanding
mouth without eyes or face. In response they
hover- ethereal witnesses to
the thumbs of an angel- no relation.
Parliament Hill Fields
One pear tree, in the snowfield, points a hand
skyward, having dropped every Bartlett.
The year's close conspicuous; the hill glows
and the mud beds whiten. Leaves wither, ghosts
on dark boughs. Wan frost glints like sugared
tin. Heel-prints glittering on grass, all smudge.
The sun settles its indigo nimbus.
Icy melts stir the inky pond bottoms
to a tumult, a pooling of fresh faith.
Rain sheets keep the town at its posts along
Victorian streets. A slickening of
garden sun-tile, outside, where our cocks
whispered in the parched orchard sticks.
The storm rose sluggishly over places our
kisses left, when we refused this house
arrest, under a hail-clattering roof.
A puckish freedom coming off and on,
this morning moved towards morning's spunk.
We look slowly off, not taking much in.
Avuncular, a pair of plastic grooms
on a wedding cake, afar, by sexton
and reef-map, mannered passengers at
mid-ship; sailors awake, a string of light
in our hands. The Atlantic rolls the sails,
our lit candles carried to the rails.
The bringing of navigational charts,
our place together to elbow the stars.
Copyright Andrew Demcak 2007
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