Come
camera bed eyes peeking vertigo, aloe skin—kissed, crisp linen—demons giggling, flicking forks—confessions—her answering beacon, tracing fore-arms Braille, her finger-skips
palms brush
ballerina.
The endless frightened semen of her dragon's movement...
her embryo's stiff monkey fingertips—
a hanged men hymnal glittering love dance
of infant compliance!
The butter balm of her secretions...
the spritz of all my repugnance cascading the dull scream of her slopes.
This Mother Mary tree of cold lies
dung fog finds Fathers
reflection;
the dead ark of his moves, the run-off of placenta and
bedsprings
poker face choices tossed back
reprieves made in rains' chilly arms
men wearing dresses and caps daisy chaining garlic, establishing borders.
Chorus crows the malevolent memory
the hands that stole my treasures, the tiny rowboat you wrung with impenetrable gaze
your mouth was the only branch
your prints indelible on the frosted pane
haggard against the sky
the willow had already whispered its name
A.D. Hitchin is a somewhat heretical purveyor of poetry and prose and has appeared in various small press and independent journals and anthologies. His debut book, Messages to Central Control, has recently been released on Paraphilia Books and can be found here. You can reach him at his Facebook page.
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