Monday, July 26, 2010

Mission III











Mission III


I found a white hair on your head
now I can feel the rain coming
I feel it in my left knee
behind the charcoal briquettes monsieur
the ageless current of a storm
beginning
we are not alive in the imaginary
structures of living
no longer one-man missioning
around the cerulean earth
in a dark pod you imagine yourself
dressed entirely in tinfoil
the apartment shudders down romantically
cats know how to handle heat
which sends us into a small
panic and the hours mean hardly
anything when our love is stored
in a cool dry place