Tuesday, April 7, 2009

More Lines Inspired by the Fishing Moon

By: K. Harvey

Is the moon wet when it rains?
How is it dry, rolling between the rain and I?
The horn of the unicorn is the killer of young women.
It is the cruel shepherd.
It is straight and not bowed,
Bowing as the bull bows to its aggressor
Possessing only forward motion and a rolling eye;
This eye is dry and sees nothing.
Wear what the lilac wears.
Have many tiny flowers.
There will be showers of pale glass when it bursts in heaven,
Like a bubble of champagne when the wine has made a rocket
Of its roundness,
So the sky expels the moon to drop it like a penny in a stone fountain
Where it lies with other moons and other desires forgotten.
Do not grow round like the moon;
Its radial spears, its upside-down towers.
Have many tiny flowers.

Father Abraham, papau, put the knife
(Bleating like a ram), father,
Not asking for its edge but for its grip.
Its roundness in her hand,
Her tongue behind her lips, between her teeth.
'Papau' Father Abraham Abra cadabra.
The blood provides. The blood is
That is the rain on the red stone.
Filling the fountain.
Nothing grows.
The killer of young women froze.
Only the bush shook.

Venus my lover Venus my sister Venus my wedding dress.
The killer of young women is stress.

She wields the knife.
The fields spreading like a lap
To a center stone where tap tap tap
The horn drones to the rhythm it sees
That is the running of the sap.
The unicorn turns and scratches its flank.
She has the moon where it sank on a string ringing out its syrup,
Amber droplets from its silver well confusing stars
And I am musing shall I lick it up or dip my feet in it?
That is the moon on the water.
The smaller flower showers little scent for even tiny bees.
The killer of young women is knees.
Wear what the lilacs wears.
Have many tiny flowers.
Understand. When the horn is in the bush
You need not even push
The knife away,
It is for cutting the line and letting the moon drown.