Messy Sound © 1996 Doris Flueck

 
.................................
sin
.................................

from a stone thrown
through a stained glass window,
this jagged edge cuts
deeply
       into the soft,
swollen husk
  of an orange.

then, as sweet jewels push
  up on the peel, my tongue
bleeds
       only just
slightly, and the scalpel
  is washed.

 
.................................
vertigo
.................................

as i near, a small
flurry of birds
  erupts
from a tree, twists
  and turns
through an arc of
invisible
  will.

i imagine
their signatures, those
tiny wings bending
  the air --
whose less efforted
turbulence
quickly mutes them
  again.

and here
i'm left, standing
aside this
  naked
tree

in the wind.

 
.................................
spilled milk
.................................

half empty. a carton
of eggs. those little pearly
moons. those smooth and
bleached-white bones.
sits on the kitchen counter
in the blue-white hue
of a reflected flourescent
sinklight. at three a.m.

i sit staring at the tiles
having crushed your skull. twice
without feeling

any better.

.................................
Rudd Gates
.................................

 
Copyright © Rudd Gates
December 1996

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