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Song Three by Clive Matson

Touch your skin and see how magic

has skewed your nerves

and elixired

........................even your flesh.


Sniff your arm and sweetness tinges

the grime and sweat. Lick your lips

and crunch a little seed you want to spit out

........................but it’s me.


I’m raspberry jam, I’m all over you.


All over your arms and hands,

shoulders, thighs, eyes

........................and that annoying seed,

work it loose and discover it’s between

the next tooth. And the next, too.


Run your fingers through gritty hair

and the fine sand at its roots

is micro-me and so is

....................................dilute jam

that’s oozed between your legs

and around your secret places.


With great effort you open your eyes

for my ice-nine has

........................jelled your tears

and the wall, sky, and patio chairs

bend wavy and viscid like melting glass.


You think this aggravating?

You think this isn’t the way of the world?


Smoke from St. Joan and the fires of Chernobyl

chars your nasals, perfume from Madame Bovary

livens them.


Atoms

from Mother Mary stiffen your bones.


So do Attila’s, so do Krishna’s

so do the sorceress of Budapest’s

and the smiling prostitute of Fourth Street’s.


Corn pollen dusts the ground.

Roses’ pigments cover bees’ legs.

Motes and germs and molecules

intertwine since near zero and now.


when you brush sleep from your eyes

and seed multitudes on your back

sizzle and fire

........................you know it’s me


I’m in your hair. I’m itching your groin.

I’m waving a blouse and gently fanning

those fine butt hairs.

....................................I write words

between your thoughts

with the tips of my breasts.


I’ve captivated your sense.

You can’t avoid me.


Watch while I take off my shirt

in front of trucks and small animals

jogging along my street.


Throw off excess underclothes

....................................and they sail

into the overcast with undersides

the texture of fish bellies.

....................................At sunset

lit clouds spread around the itchy sky

like so many raspberries.







Clive Matson (MFA Columbia University) has published poetry since 1964. He has taught more than 3,000 workshops nationwide, and his how-to book, “Let the Crazy Child Write” (New World Library, 1998) honoring the creative unconscious, is being used by a number of groups around the world.
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