Fall 1992 • Vol. XIV No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 1992 |

He Interprets the Dream

The globe that you're exploring represents My body. I'm the island—look at me, The way I'm like your island, my bent knees Pathetic mountains, my cock a monument To some pathetic dictator, my thighs Abandoned plazas where your father's said You'll never play. The ocean is the bed Hart Crane is sleeping in, an ocean high And unitary which could drown the earth. Instead, the earth begins to swell. It's clear You want the earth to fuck you everywhere, The way I do, to raise you from yourself, Transport you there—I'm here, you mustn't be Afraid. I'm resting like an island, home Upon this sea of your sheets-your metronome A compass in my voice, the voice you seek.

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The globe that you're exploring represents My body. I'm the island—look at me, The way I'm like your island, my bent knees Pathetic mountains, my cock a monument To some […]

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