Wednesday, April 29, 2009


The saw's plucking teeth
Bite into a juicy red-
Wood, with tufts of fur
Clinging to it's weave
And hearts like sharp feathers
Slicing a stiff salt wind

Around my fingers I wind
The slick floss, between my teeth
Tiepolo clouds painted with feathers
And behind my molar a sudden spark of red
Before dawn I weave
Moss with your fur

A delicious mink's fur
Which round your waist winds
Near your neck it weaves
With a gentian between it's teeth
Violet and red
As a cardinal's dropped feather

At the notch of the arrow, the feather
Makes fly the fur
And snow blooms red
Button's stuck--we can't rewind
So we take the tape in our teeth
And shiny black weave

In time to drums, dancers weave
Arms bathed in keys of feather
Necklaces rattle of badger teeth
Bordered with fur
Spatterings of woodwind
The bansuri spewing red

Still sunk in the red
Unpicking last night's weaving
Into a sphere the yarn winds
Oars feathered
The walls must be furred
Prepared for the comb's teeth

At the stitch of the tooth, an underglow of red
Fistfuls of fur into a shawl woven
And a heart pierced with feathers, left flapping in the wind.

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