May I

  On Naming   Vowels ploughed into other: opened ground, Each verse returning like the plough turned round.                                       Seamus Heaney                                     Glanmore Sonnets, II   Is it true we name things out of our longing for them the breath of their enunciation in our ear when we lift the syllables from our tongue to our lips? Do we wet those lips before we speak or after?   Is it a dish we’ve come to savor but all aroma no flesh or fat or broth?   There’s salt on the air.   The brining kind.   The kind splayed and blo...

  Orchid   We were walking talking about how erotic certain flora were especially tropical fruits & so who wouldn’t see a mango as a woman’s breast and that stem end her areola her rough used-up nipple?   To me   that’s an intelligent design.   To make a people crave the flaying & impetus of their own lips into the electric flesh & come away rashed ravished & having ravished.   Take this lady slipper I say: look & see her rising up, hemlock/oak   sprill & leaf skirt quieting all this time she spends in her cellar-dark conjuring sisters’ talk with urges with dormancy with aching complacency until the convocation stage is placed & made to wait until all the guest tickets checked are ushered   to their rained-on seats.   It’s as if so much waiting is so much life going by not being seen I mean heaps and heaps of life passed over and so what’s a fruit to do?   Or an or...