Sarah Picklesimer The 2River View, 4.4 (Summer 2000)

Taking Rein of My Thoughts

The hour arrives when evening raises its azure wand
and the light smolders, after half-light,
leaving these lonely eyes to watch the distant sunlight
step down a western staircase; well endowed,
sashaying with rounded hips so ardent
and crimson-gold ruffled crinoline that turns
the world of men upside down.

This place struts over memories that blow belching
and opens the solid past into boiling winds.
Long climbs past bitter vetch and shady strata
arrive only to look back across this hilly gorge;
all-knowing data that reveals with a red shadow
and folds into pleats of conjured blood.
Where one might invoke the honed hues
of one's former lovers. I've no such past.

I've never been a beautiful woman and now
drawn-out, whiskered silences shuffle
only to force me out across the hilly gorge
standing with timber, grapevine and hollow,
equally old as the rustled tail-feathers
of the first chicken I killed for dinner
that pranced its bold, puppet dance for life.

While others vaulted into a grave of love,
I carried on my drawn-out and whining way
with Horus walking in forms that only I could see.
Daydreaming led me to follow him,
and yet he only watched me, a step away.
I'd be a pupil if he would be my teacher,
I'd kiss the ground to turn time around,
while murdering and castrating all the evil
I would eat black dirt like Ezekiel ate dung.

Then snowflakes would fall to earth and everything
would turn from crimson to white.
Pure consciousness would shovel all our paths,
and my head would no longer be upside down.

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2River All is well.