Marlon Brando

I, possessed, fail earth.

There is my child: an emperor, warily among the palms,

flute blown sea around. I amble after only praise.

My child, conflated of jaggery and ire,

wraps himself in love, therefore

a shriveled head he stretches upon.

If he loses sleep on the first day of the year,

the year is shot.

So I, who possess the trouvailles of life

am spent, idols whispering into my volute ear,

brute messages that do not feign to care.

*

Marlon Brando

His eyes move

as he shoots the wool.

Spring emergent muscle red

as a bandolier.

Smiling to death, a party.

A horse runs, neck snapping.

A horse in the church that I carry

dervishes almost like a poem,

tending to the left,

cricketmouths of unfinished milk.

Bonnets, aprons.

Who knew you were clothed of the opposite sex,

blue dress at dusk, relents at dusk.

Star of Bethlehem, imp of Solomon,

lips of Salome, eyes of Cleopatra.

**

The Pines are appearing currently and soon in CAB/NET, Cannibal, Cranky,

 Hot Whiskey, and elsewhere, as well as in The Pines Volumes One,

Two, and Three (Southern California; Ridgefield, Connecticut;  The

Knights of Columbus, respectively). The Pines Volume Four

is forthcoming in 2007. Visit their website at: thepines.blogspot.com

Archived at http://lit.konundrum.com/poetry/thepines_poems.php