enjabment at work

Meditating on nowhere and blown out like a flame
my yoga body moves into a single pointed place where
I focus on a precious brandished-skin groom
in white breeches and a red riding cap and
a prophetic anchor who never saw his visions
and his listeners who gobbled
all the scraps of sideways wisdom he heaved at them and
finally a Sufi who exclaimed he was the Truth and that his face was my face
and spun in circles
circling around twinkling carousels, I told them
I'd give them everything if they would just given me a minute
when my hair was corn-colored,
I moved toward them blue-shifted (like a smile
rejoicing in our hands) mouth-watering fantasy remains--
me crouched in their lap, blowing cigar smoke in their mouths,
exhaust tastes warm like home, rolls off the tongue like Hebrew or Greek
however all of us could ride well oiled lanterns regardless
of what language we spoke
or we'd shine the light, late at dusk together for weary caravans;
'wake up,' we say 'its time to rise,' cellos bellow from
below our stomachs humble us gnawing on bones of stones we
find our simple recipes for soups made with fish and tall grasses
of which I wove pots and spoons made of bamboo until
we feasted and sent invitations to nations of paper birds
on rice stationary and little origami children took our fingertips and we were
down the rolling mountains where we found plantations of peasants with golden skin
harvesting paragraphs of verbs and cultivating stories from their tea, we buried their wishes
so that I transformed into an archaeologist, or like a cow without skin
I uncovered all of my attachments to worldly adjectives in the end.

Courtesans Galloping Horses

I.

First Woman was falling off the shoulders,
eating oranges and potato wedges from a Quince Tree.
And she dancing, dancing.
He says, “Keep that away from me.”

Soft Woman watched him stand adjacent, horizontal to the waters of a tragic koi pond, kissing the water with his back, grace-filled fish of gills complacent as their long swimming bodies surface-trascended, nearly brushing his skin. He was bare and motherless, lying temporal, node by node, in a hospital bed.
Empty Woman watched him float away, hands on temples. In sacred spaces; his hands were in revelation. A Beautiful Woman just wanted to call him home.
She whispered on and on about avocados in the aisles and sweetly shut up the cupboards. Sunflowers for all of the mothers. Fancy frosted cupcakes for everyone, with little pearly roses on the side.


II.

Changing Woman asks ,
Had She seen Moses? Dark-haired and disco,
parting the waters of the East River.
Insatiable-thirsty, technicolor fireworks.

A seer, a Prophet Woman swallowed stainless steel spoons to recite stories of stories. She was lost in a box in translation. The cadence of her abstractions made all of the princes sigh.
Out-shone like fading lights, Tunnel Woman crawled into the whipping horse's eyes. A stallion made of gold coins drank the coffee. A Babylonian King bowed to marquis of names, never-never. Illuminated woman fell from arms in the sky.
Everyone lifted their hands in praise, in thanks, for saddles on antiquated elephants, for reflecting pools and cinnamon or saffron epithets.

Everyone mourned because not even Saving Woman could save him.

III.
Cascading Woman succumbed to gravity. Elapsing, she said, saidless, goodbye.