Tuesday, October 3, 2006

Two poems by Allen Heinrich

Cotton Candy
She will ask him one day,
when first
love whispered her name,
and for a moment's breath
he will think of ships
raising sail
by the painted thousand,
and the woman whose face
could draw them forth.
He will think how once
a glance
could fire a man's heart
and in so doing, torch
an entire city, and how still
the smallest dart can strike
the warmest embers.

No matter, then, that she laugh to
think he
remembers her first
in the whirl of candy
cotton-pink, a lightness
reminiscent of the girl -

Already he is building ships...

Tang
I'm fed up with poems
manufactured for astronauts -
the systematically
dehydrated
artificially flavored
mass-produced
pre-packaged powder
passed off as fruit -

Feed me
an earthier flesh,
a natural taste and texture:
peaches for the hands
to find sticky,
and the tongue, tart;
plums I can bite into
deeply, so that after,
I might lick from the corners
of a satisfied mouth,
the tang of ripening juices...

More about Allen Heinrich can be found in the October edition of Present Magazine, or in his literary mag, Carnelian.

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