Burdock:  Touch Me Not

 Like Jesus, I breathe in revolution and exhale love.  Hard to see

in the gurry crags I lace into every passing hairy thing.  But the seeds

devolve in every animal pouch, acclaim some ghostliness beyond

an Anglo inability to doubt and grow into that doubt.  A day

a week I'm off, inscrutable--coursing Mt. Monadnock's whitewater

doublings in search of a shrew to tree with.  Ample breadth

of character in that, all this pricker I give away for free and

earn the reputation of a bastard weed.  The deeds I live by

will debt back sotted earth, for its lousy names and institutions

out of craw and agon in the eye.  In Latin I burn away

the holiest of virgins before a microbe touches down

and settles into porcupine.  Divine, then, this penchant

for ugliness and odor:  the last of the earth's awry will bless

the shoot of bean that craps up from my organs like an ant.

Laelia Orchid:  Entrapment

You kiss my ear, I'll oil your anthers with musk of porpentine.

Lips pursed over the palpable blue coronet of umbel, no nitre,

nothing, can dampen the flush of fever on your petiole tonight.

You, a flower, penumbral, unguent, litter my soul with dust,

you from pocked-fleck carrion bud of Taormina, the taste

of salt pillaring a hole as large as the mouth of... Say it, say

the name and fixate on the afterglow:  the slow sodden tongue

back to the labia of innuendo.  Even Baudelaire's a prick-song

next to this.  Etruscan anus, suckled by sweat bees, we meet to taste

materia, nectar of Vishnu and the elephantine will to eternally fuck.

Pink, fleshy-livered fulcrum fuming a lava of honeysuckle chill,

my mind careens into the bowels of desire in Laelia, the frontlet

a parterre to the skin of a hymen one.  Chastity's act's swallowed up

in a lone wheatstraw talcum tongue-suck in an estuary marsh of Skye.

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