The Eyes of the Roses

for Renee



I'd never dreamed
I could be so enfolded

until I mistakenly slid
from illness through your nights
bathed in thickets of real-life case files and the
humor we
wore to deflect our pasts.

You're so goddamned advanced
you figure it out. All I've
had for years is
reflections of these
weed-serrated houses, and
tonight four hundred miles
away from you I walk
until I've
hammered all the sweat out,

the scream of my body sinking
into this dirt I was born in.
Have you ever seen
so many fences in one fucking
town? At the same time,

I don't know how deep he goes, asleep
where we shattered a thousand old
bones, crying among the retired,
hospice tense, and growing
new frames to laugh at during
South Park.

By myself, I would probably use the phrase
"cultural landscape" and forget about it, though I
bury here what
I won't bury in you. And sometimes
I think about the eyes of the roses.



=====


NEW!!!–Dirty Milk–reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/

http://www.lewislacook.com/

tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html








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