|
Mercury Switches and The Mating of Clocks
Kissed to death by gold whiskers,
was her lovely
skate backwards around
a sphere of mercury.
From the first wet spark
came a series of cylinders,
calendar holders with
fingers for handles,
white Christmas babies
with inscrutable veins.
Their firsts steps in unison
were on the soles of dead men -
how they laughed,
how they mirrored decay!
The podium was that
wrinkled uterus, the jewel
encrusted grave
you gave to us
and Christ like
a wingless blur
hums the cut
flowers nodding over her,
the mercurial blood
and phallic hats
of heavy dafodils,
of heavy water wombs
where time (that savaged emerald)
flows like scaffold spiders
or money without price.
And ice, cut wet with steel
scars over the intention
sends the scabbed vibration
of shuddering cheeks
into art, into grace and slides
like blades through fog,
that impossible grass
in our mercurial core.
Alacrity Stone
Email: Alacrity Stone
Return to Table of Contents
|