V. still

your voice   still
 floats into my ears
after the closing
 of the door   
after the rise and descent
 of fogs

who pulls the strings?
who pulls the strings?

I cannot fathom that  strings
 are being pulled
and voices  [not mine]
 into my mouth

yet     I took  you 
 my mouth

a dribble of a thousand seeds 
 you planted    there 
   drool from  
   between  my lips
my heat   my dirt
 an urn  of germination
word seeds   fingered up
through  soiled speech
my thumb is green on you
     seedling burst invasion
      of my garden plot

you   hotbedded    
  grow into   my licentious

how far the mind wanders
 from open plain to dark wood
and down      down
   into the underworld
   of sparkling quartz 
and conversing corpses  and
 those   who utter prophecies

we have ignored them before
we have translated them
 time and again

you have come  and gone
abrupt leave-takings
buried in avalanche
swept away by flash flood
swallowed up by a terrestial yawn 

in and out   in and out of
  my life
the gate  swings
empty on its hinges
where once you rode 
 into my unkempt plot

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