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Eclipse of the Moon

with green veins and the hammer‘s gear.
The grass, and the elephant ears
grow over my longing. A spear
in the elephant heart six years
will cause death. Do not interfere.
The grass, and the elephant ears
die like memory, re-appear
on our tongues, in our furred hearts‘ fears.
Rhubarb, lend me your fruit one year.
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inscription under a woman poet’s photograph
what would you think if you knew what I looked like?
you would think I looked like what I am
you know what I look like
now, I look as I am
I know what you look like
I let them know
no mirror, not half
what you look like
let them know what you look like
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absurd broccoli whose
yellow-golden twigs
are trees, whose thousands
of tiny trees mirror
the insane logic of
the surreal –- the worlds
within the world,
growing on the world;
the velveteen sunshiny
corduroy of the
emaciated organic
the bubbles of
the starving oatmeal —
bubbles rich, metallic,
breaking like dreams
all around one —
the oatmeal