Poem: The Crosses of Lafayette (2007.11.20)

2007.11.20
The Crosses of Lafayette

The jowls of fall are covered in it,
the leaves have turned,
But do not fall.
Supplicative sap replaced, reshaped with human blood.
the bite of perpetual Autumn
has made the vinter rejoice
the thick juice crushed from the earth
A cask broken upon our streets,
Oozes forth like fingers pushing through
cracks and cobbles
-- nails gathering up grime.
We turn our hands to see that yes,
all along we've been dirty with the black energy
and now our prints are smeared with blood
Everyone sees.

I collect spring shallots at Alice.
Avocados swing from boughs
Topless men gather sun in Snow Park
And the sun rises every morning
over the lake, over the fog, over our
broken cask, it steeps the street
Intentless

To count the days by dead;
Ten years have passed
crosses on a hill near Lafayette.
But the blades of grass-
the number between
the white-paint wood.
We do not see, do not care to see
for often we look at things of our own design,
Still further our intent. In the world
we desire ourselves projected back
Beautiful.
Morning mirrors clasp ever so delicately
To green tips illuminated with the east's
Spreading light
the world hangs upside down
the blood of the trees
And the earth's waking breath spread
across the sky
In reflection flutters the future
Sticky with the past.