Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Windmill in Barbados



I never used it once
the beautiful cow whose skin tent
releases all the color at once
to build it sturdily
our legible practices
before the waters
are mute
to ourselves
and whole
ever whole
the palm tree echoes it
the wind palm
the wind hand
the mill stone
the palm oil
and the sugar cane
flow all over the world
like a beard
if we put a coconut up
on a high stick point
like a severed head there
it would sit
and grow a beard
the palms in the sand
the quiet terror of the ocean
things or men
which wash up from the sea
swords and corals are growing
like a pirate's groan
to hack and chop
the hairy head open
for its milky
wind
fire and abstract
consciousness