My Mount Olympia
When the lint on the invoice envelope’s edge, looks like a man running for you,
I want a mother, I’ve always said, to hold me and melt me into her breast
for the heat rocks me to sleep
as if I could do anything but rest
bordered in your arms
you bat away the bees
around you that swarm
to taste this ambrosia
that never leaves me starved
An emotional dilettante is about to tear
An emotional dilettante is about to tear and tear.
Yes. I, the lackey of logic, care,
Unstable as a rocky, cliff-side crag,
Feeling the free-fall- depressed and sad.
Hug me, for I will fall in love with falling:
Craving you, unchecked as a city sprawling.
Right now – irrational as the root of two
Quiet outside, but it’s just a rue.
Underneath the tractors are churning
Above fields of manure turning
A bag of weeds and seeds into a farm
That without plague or swarm
Will harvest bountiful fruit and wheat
Until in the sky we meet.