The sun abandons and I sleep a good while,
until daisies alert me.
I snooze on wafts of clover,
wake again!
I can’t contain the kettle boiling.
Startles me as if it’s a new passing.
I open to Whitman and stop this night with me,
which possesses all poems,
the valve of your voice.
What is a man? What am I? What are You?
Lulled again into the underworld, I wear
the cap of my invisibility.
Where I find my Self in lavender fields,
trying to ambush them
because they are too good for God!
The ocean never abates
or stops producing olfactory portent
that smells like an angry leather belt tonight
and wakes me again!
How the chimera dies underneath
my dysmorphic body,
above the roof of this stained house.
What is a man? What am I? What are You?
Until all simmers and glimmers
a revised hope that my husband
will return from sailing with his wish on board.
That a simple nod will bring up the sun again.
And bring him home!
What is a man? What am I? What are You?
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
I write to break the psyche in half. What good are words unless they turn us upside down and shake us?
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