Page Seven, solipsism and Marriage
She didn't marry mere man, but a serf,
Someone to rake the bad moments in piles
And rise with the cockcrow to brew coffee.
Have you ever been blinded by butterflies,
Swarm of her eye and mouth around you
Flicking on and off, offering leaf and limb?
A country besieged in bed sheets,
Her motherland exposed-
A battle ground, convincing him
She is Stalingrad, fight for me.
What will become of me
When I can no longer
Turn her on?
Out of the Hundreds
Out of the hundreds
that held still here
I know only mine-
finger, sliding against
the curvature and sloop.
Flung back black hair,
honey colored thigh-
What would night be if it didn’t follow day?
There was too much distance.
You in dress,
backdrop of steamed up
windows. Airport to bedroom-
intolerable. I love you.
About Brian Dawson:
Brian James Dawson has never liked writing anything in the third person. He lives in Livermore, California. He roots for your San Francisco Giants and enjoys cleaning up after his partner/editor/wife and two daughters. He is trying to find reasons to leave the house. He likes routine. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Can we have our ball back, Poesy, Denver Syntax, California Journal of Poetics, Pretty Owl Poetry, Metazen, Electric Cereal , Remark, Admit 2, and Blood Lotus.