NOCTURNE
RAPPORT WITH A GIANT
we
stood
far
from slow
stupid
clouds
yawning
at earth:
nothing
growing
in this field
but webs
and
fire
always
was
black
in
his face
pointing
his
cigar
at
the moon:
nothing
home,
I
turned
in my covers
waiting
for sleep
this window
is
sometimes
the ceiling of excrement
I
wanted
only
to
see him
still
in
the window:
I
hear
strange
teeth
spraying
into a room of children
still:
closer:
child sleeping
I cup my hands
inside you
looking
for something
SONG OF THE GIANT
do violence
to yourself
child
stay
in this room
with me
THE GIANT EATING
floating
dinner:
did you write your mother
what colors do you see
are you
not remembering
what
starved your cats
I strove
I could not appreciate the shadows
collecting
at their teeth
dear mother, i am succeeding
--Dereck Clemons 2004