red house

may as well call cunninglingus

exactly what it is

a reason to let antivivisectionist gospel

loose to the wind that wants it.

It's a bird anyway. A thing you

postpone from being there,

withdraw from your blood; comprehend

in the words that remain farthest from the sun.

A feeling that excites.

A collection of hives.

A rash,

in the bell, that rings the love

of Greek goddesses.

I had a girl once, but I was

clumsy in my apartment of shells.

All the windows solar,

crying out like a newborn.

And if this Indianness persists,

if there is such a thing as praying for rain

then God does make exceptions for

cameraphone pain.

The selfies you take,  this

side of paradise.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

I'm guessing your first stanza will never begin a high-school graduation speech (though perhaps it should.) There is an implied comparison of cunnilingus to selfies, or at least I'm forcing one upon the poem, the notion of being once-removed from the nuts-and-bolts (I'm fighting a pun here) of real-life. You may have been "clumsy in my apartment of shells" (and again, what a wonderful little reference in a poem that references cunnilingus), but you are at your conversational best here.

[willthepoet]

Awesome. Your one of the best poets I've read in a while

[Delmar Cooper]

I don't understand the ocean either, though I love the warm wash of waves.

[h d e rushin]

thank you Delmar..........me too...dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

selfies this side of paradise...we might as well be making love with our cell phones...

i pray for rain...rain being those old days when we stole the land from the indians...because i wish we could take all that back, and quite being so clumsy...they showed us love and we....well we gave them all little Red Houses on reservations.

excuse me for where i went with this...probably far away from your thoughts when writing it...but your words sent me there...i call it exactly as i see it...:)

your writing always sends me places.