Iíve moved over against it 12/27/2007


Blister before my every eye
if you want to talk to me. Tell me
itís all about everything youíre doing
or all of what you mean to do

to all of me. No more lavish treasures for you, no more
riches. If you find anything good
itís in the way I look at you. Blooming.

Try seeing it more like black raging
stems for the melting of desire. Try seeing red leavings
of torn cartilage, heavy torn despair. Feel

that glass twisting on its heaving mass
ready unsteady for the way battle bottles
look out looming in from the left.

You want to bring brushes out against me donít you
you want more love mixing in to bring out all your color
you want a lot more seeing but only not my doing

Call up all your
blooming shading if you want to
itís still a long way from
still life.

Poetry by William F. Buford
Copyright © 2004-2007 William F. Buford. All Rights Reserved.