The Fire Deep Inside

The Fire Deep Inside


My penis in the shape
of my own heart
rests on the pillows. (F. Picabia)
I taste a liquor never brewed
out of your lips.
The generals are gathering.
They stare into each other’s eyes
through mirrors.
With a display of wounds
we signal them
& turn away. I am the last
because the fire
deep inside
burns till it’s morning.
Poetry is made in bed
for some for me
the call of life is stronger.
I walk & see my shadow
hanging upside down
with yours. The way
your mouth says I
is just like mine.
I multiply
the little portion
that your fingers
spill.
I cannot comprehend
the way men kill
or laugh. I will not
vouch for them.
There is a space to burrow in
under the covers.
The way he wants to kiss
while vomiting
is part of life. The way
he calls on death
trumpets his own.


Jerome Rothenberg

Posted over on Rothenberg's Homepage