68. SOLAR MILK

dear heart in my breast,
locus of half my sickness,
my brain the other aching half,
how I infect myself
with this muddled desire!
Such distraction my malady,
such malady my distraction,
toxic distillation scouring the beds
of my blood’s river, the musseled
beaches of my thoughts’ ocean!

My own disposition
is the poison of my life.
The world is me
I abhor the world, and
thereby abhor myself.

Come, blessed contradiction,
numb the quadrilles of my prison.
Come, come, dear berries of day,
oozing the sweet sun’s milk,
rub away the noxious sleep around my eyes!

Aye, this fevered throe
shakes my head in yes’s and no’s,
makes the giving hand a fist,
the poet’s tongue a sour, cringing twist,
and love’s death’s soliloquy a prolog
               to the golden hours.