THE SIEGE

for Renee

After the fashion of waking
lately, up from walks
and stoops of paving in scale,

we separate at flinch of alarm, rolling
over our own sides of bed, mostly
still sleeping, but

still sleeping repetitively. I want
to tell you how dreams are recursive; they
function in spools on the end of the night
and wrap whole tones in petulant emulsion,

a wash of green grapes over us as we
stone what's chasing through those haunted
houses we've left already, and shower on
clean socks. Mine are parental by default;

the teeth familiar, the breath teeming with
pits; no arrival in juicy green flesh but
a withering of inwardness, where protection
means getting away and being alone, and you

play at my edges like a jezebel of seizure.
You ply me with lip readings of the anti-canon,

smooth me into jets of worthy warm gush, though I
resist in my own sustenance, my own cessation

of moving through moons frail as a mammoth, and
sure, I'll eat my vegetables for you. The siege,

begun in bedlam, while fists sifted through
kindergarten and the old banishment routine,

mumbles over momentous ambiance like a beat just

itching to make it to bed with you again.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/


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