Vol. II. Issue. III September 2011 - The Criterion: An International ...

www.the-criterion.com The Criterion: An International Journal in English ISSN 0976-8165
Here’s to all that have split hairs, raised hairs,
Split colors, becoming an isthmus for lovers
To hang onto. The world can only hold so
Many of us upward. The rest fall into a trough
Where they remain, unexposed.
A Pain, An Ache, A Drizzle
To all the little pricks that run through Amsterdam,
They come for little pageants in the streets, and
Follow every scent, then give blood for fuel.
To every brown or golden nipple in the ruins
Of a long continent, with sunshine marks and
Hairless crescent, who give men thought of
Running with vintage cloaks through Norway.
Easy kisses to all kneecaps that have left
Imprints on leather couches and in sand boxes.
The arch of a smothered back that is handled
By a merry-go-round of fingers.
There just aren’t enough shiny tomorrows
And sun-breathed waterways to flow away on.
All paths lead all of us to us, to find us,
To make more of us, to us being in us.
It’s not a racket. It’s life and love and living life.
Here’s to all the blood-ripe fullness, the blue
Swelling under the skin, the triggers of skin-dipped
Mechanisms that fire when stroked, touched heathens,
Unexamined mouths that heave into a snail’s labyrinth.
For all the wells where souls fill after colliding,
For all the weaved fingers moistened, there
Is more, there is much more, more to feel, more
To dilate, more to congregate. There are still places
And parts that can be kneaded.
To anyone who hesitates upon romantic sentences
With fear of overexposing, a salute. Dip yourselves
Into a bugged conversation and then run a gamut
Of easy verbs into your stomachs. Choke on nouns
M Scott Craig
Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri
Vol. II. Issue. III 305 September 2011