Your Gyant God

adapted from Baudelaire's The Giantess, tr, by R.Howard

had you been there

when primal nature teemed

with monstrous progeny

you would have tried

to nest beside

some gyant god

the way that cats

sprawl at the feet

of those who feed them.

loving to watch him breathe

you would see his lower arm

grown tremendous

with his terrible games.

and you would study

rain-clouds forming

in his darkening eyes

to know what thunders

gather'd in his heart.

scaling the slopes

of his enormous legs

you saunter through

the landscape of his lap.

and when fetid summer

makes him stretch

across the lands

you will sleep, untroubled

in the shadow

of his arm--

a peaceful homestead

at the mountain's base.

when it comes

golden treasure
summer's child--
warm breeze
dancing leaves
ache for moisture...
at his touch
alive and flowing
drenching flower,
leaf and stem,
shaft descending
into darkness...
a rooty forest
of eager, greedy mouths

The Empty City

empty streets i wander
empty houses pass by
not daring to enter
not wanting to try

salt air now calls to me
down to rotting docks
there no ships await me
no keys for any locks

i cannot bear to depart
i do not want to stay
lying down by the gate
too tired even to pray