Aug 25, 2009

Madrigal

Written by John Campbell

Read by Michael Shewmaker

Let's undress & let our bodies float above us.
The moon is new as pitch & given
enough time, the river will brush out the mountain,
so it is better to start off with sex
than with longing. We call this fashion. But the bed
& the tumbling of bodies, this is an ending.

Then how do we begin?                   Fully clothed.
No. This is boring.                          Yes. We need tits.
No. Less terminal. Ankles?              Yes. Wrists.
Yes. Vulnerable. The memory of both soft spot & skull.

Yes. Let's just make a pair of cat faces for a masquerade.  Or
give me your hand & we'll meander. Forget the moon,
the mount, the ocean & the hard-on. Forget the body's tangle.
We don't need the ocean. I know. I've seen every beachhead
from Normandy to your doorstep & 
this is not the ocean.                        This is oxygen.
Listen. The moon is pitched & new again. No more, no less.
Listen. Cartilage. Bronchiole. Alveolus. Artery. Night sky.
Yes. 

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