10:39 am | 01 April 2003 | rapunzel bobbed

With my ham-fisted calligraphy
I try to plan an absence of planning
Not lying in wait any longer:
We will be heavy symbolists

And the revival in our wake
Will be fevered with magazines
who run glossy photo spreads
of the calling that flies between us

In glances thrown like homing pigeons
with words as razored as tongues
and words like a lonely marquee
and words like the night asleep in the daytime

Flying a combined declaration
with a love that walks wobbly as kittens
over the map of my wishing
(an impetuous tattoo)

And when the photographers sleep we�ll climb
To a branch-clutching jarlit fort
and listen to waves and transistors
with memories one minute long

We are the turning faces of asters
Under a somnabulist�s suggestion:
Kisses as two-faced as a pillow
Punctuated by the shrug of a smile