daguerreotypes

4/26/05

your eyes are guatemala and your hair the sky i saw
above the canopy in the morning, the breeze your whispers
and
the light dust kicked up by the fruit man's
truck
with its seductive smell suprisingly close to your unwashed hair -

i was drunk down there, stumbling down the street on a magic
carpet like i am tonight, lost in blue and white retina memories that
burn like magnesium flames
and could i close my eyes and shut out the seduction i would
but like pain the beauty pins my feet to the ground and
glues my eyes wide,
overexposing my sore and tired point-and-shoot oculars
to some of the toughest things
one could ever wish
to forever capture -
breezes and scents and the morning colors of the sunrise
and the way it lit her skin as she wept