F. X. James

rolling on with tongue

with fingertips and laughter

four gleaming eyes

and a purchased scent

that is utterly new

this is bed talk

plain as unlit night

your frame beneath cool flesh

furniture I'm unaccustomed to

there is no malice to this game

nothing owed

nothing taken

let complexity perish

and sweet breath

carry only silence

so I sit alone

to fashion unstolen words

beneath undertaker skies

there is a weight that is borne of time

and angst and anger

and all the piddling errors made

that wraps like soured love

kissing bones

untenderly

calling thru this certain dark

with ghostlike cries

and as I sit alone

to look far beyond

what night has brought

I doubt only myself

and those who

believed

dirty ditty

night that calls

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS