Of The Flesh by Carl Phillips

If the sea could dream, and if the sea
were dreaming now, the dream
would be the usual one: Of the Flesh.
The letter written in the dream would go
something like: "Forgive me -- love, Blue."

...Carl Phillips from his book Cortege

some women are angels..and he didn't understand

a raven-haired beauty
in the perfect dress
for her perfect breasts
real
as she is real
her beauty true
latin, deep
a dark bright space
for love
as she is
for love
loving
perfection
what it means to be
female
feminine

i called to tell him of her
he wanted to
sleep
travel
think me engaged
in trivia

an earth angel
raven-haired and perfect
and the him
who just didn’t
understand




signed....blue

wax me home...a poem

music reverberating concrete
under my feet
i watch the fetching—
fetch
check mates
gaze down:
shirts, rivals, the slopes of noses

and

i
alone here
wonder if this half moon
waxes
or wanes our way home


the girl in the polka-dotted
newsboy cap
keeps trading it
for glasses

the boy with glasses
needs perspective
on the surrounding lack of
those worthy

judgment without reflection


as

i
alone here
wonder if this half moon
waxes
or wanes our way home


eyes turn down
glasses drain
djs meter a denouement


while this half moon

waxes my way home




-----signed,
....................blue