You're in the woodshed , mossy- ha ired
a nd murderin g logs. Your rages
a re diurna l, like coas t winds
or th e rite o f milking. Sun-up
a nd moonri se, these a re dead
love rs' limbs in your whee lba rrow.
I a ppeal to the mirror
a nd your intelli gence . Look
a t the silk a nd size of us,
our fl eece a nd uncti on.
See how we burn , not wives
but mud witches kneadin g
the ho t udde r of the goat ,
our la ughte r glitte rin g
ove r the white spirt , whil e
sta rs peppe r our ni ght heads,
a nd the memori es o f our loves
festoon us like wa rm animals.
C. H. Sisson
THINGS
It is unbuildin g now,
All I have to do
-Down , down a nd down .
It did no t ma tte r , no.
A ma n should have a thou ght
Or so I thought
But why did I think tha t ?
I suppose, caught
