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