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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


08.09.04, monday morning

Ode to Dust

You are invisible in darkness
but should a solitary hand
tug at the curtains
appear you must

Cannonball-petals
bloomed by an unseen tree
liberating its petals at once
in a woodlet of doors

Phosphorus
incandescing a colorless ocean
where eerie songs suspend
themselves above our furniture

Floating in rooms
as the tiniest hooves dance
on our skin, his or mine,
does not matter

If you were dandruff,
dead skin, factory soot, or pollen
from a faraway flower
entending its mating grounds

You brawl, kiss, bolero
in sun-purloined shoes
laced by the hands of friends.

By moonlight or sunlight or lamplight
you can transform a tiny apartment
into a many-windowed ballroom
aglow with a thousand chandeliers

Ignite your generous gilt
flyspecklight-bulbed laughter
let your coronas wild
within my wilderness of books,

Now so big, so occupied
so many places & beings
I had never known
before you.




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