Damon Hubbs

& the girls with their heads filled with boys
& the boys with their heads filled with girls
in far districts, i light upon your Saturday candy
as transformer linesexplode

& we remake the origin of the world.
in far districts, i light upon your Saturday candy.
you overfeed me & hide my heart inside a tree,
sour wrenches of spongy earthseafoam green

& bark in gliding step – i’ll need hours of bath time
to hard suck cold sweats & stomach pains.
it has me gasp, your lingonberrybattu, brisé
what would Courbet say

of our century of panic and pleasure –
it was so, it was so.
it has me gasp pale colored fish,
the Jupiter red spot of yourgenesis

Sun glints off the tree’s antlers,
the deep stillness of vert and venison
widening the in-between

as you range afield to the forest’s castle keep
over whorled bracken and deepening green.
You do not whistle on your little lane but

ring the stalk and sticky cap, and for a moment
even the water stops, and you flow
in cordate ripples stem in cleft.

Night rakes the roses
and smashes robin’s eggs.
You hear the drone of ancient monsters

and winterfalls like broken bagpipes
fuzzling the grassy green. You are caught
in purlieu, beyond the dream

where your land starts and the forest ends
birds in hornbeams
flex their throated longbows.