GERBURG_GARMANN

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PENDULUM

I believe in rain,
thus I am helplessly alive.

God knows where this thirst comes from.
I must have been born in a jar of wax,
or sprung from buttoned bones, long ago.

I am hooked on rain. I am straining for it.
On good days, it grows three toes
out of my ears.

They curl around its strands of wet pearls,
constrict them rosily, boa-fashion. As I listen
to their small crackly voices, I deplore
the stunted gods.

Pink skin is the sign for all things cunning
yet for me to be light on my feet again and
to swing to the other side of my wants

where the blameless air still sings
with still dripping seeds.

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MAKE THAT TWO

Spring disinters
earth predators under your bangs,
stirs fish fossils
between your eyelashes.

No wrath
no mercy
collapses like the mud-strings
of your lids.

Open your eye --
no, make that two

and your bared gifts
flooding in dark circles
over grubby waters
will be auctioned off
cup by cup
from my frivolous scale.