Oct/Nov 2000 Poetry

Three Poems

by Danny C. Knestaut


Sun Down

A noose of wire hung
from the porch eaves.

I watched the sun
slip its head in.

I watched the sun
slip its head out.

With a red choke mark
around its neck,

I watched the sun
stagger off

to catch its breath.



The knife bites into my thumb
with teeth that have a taste
for fleshy things; my blood,
thick, dark, rich against
rubbery meat of red bell peppers.

I suck the scarlet from thumb,
taste the tang of spice, life,
a jubilance washed over tongue,
forged with the iron of blood.

I pick up the cutting board,
knife, dull side down, scrape
minced peppers into the crock-pot;
stir it under tomatoes, beans,
mushrooms, onions, jalapenoes.
This evening I will feed you
bowls of brown-thick chili.

I will watch spoon-fulls
pass your teeth. A touch of sauce
smudged on the corner where your lips
greet each other will be washed away
with generous amounts of ice water.
I will know the alien pleasure
of lover. I will nourish,
nurture you. My work in you
to fuel strength. My blood in you,
so many fluids I give to you.
I see myself inside of you
rising like dough until I fill you.

After dinner, I will love you more,
as I always love you more;
ginger as a mother to balance hands,
arms like embracing wings,
yet cautious not to smother.
I wish, want to have your attention
long enough to explain the why,
the how, when, what and where of love.

Tender, I mix them together,
set them to simmer all night
in the holds of our bed,
careful of my thumb, my tendancy
to cut myself with edges,
bleed my efforts into passion.


--for l.a. valante

I want an end
to tight skin.

To skirts that loom
like thunderstorms
promising to spill

more confessions
of loneliness
and bar room secrets.

no more stories
of sexual conquest

that spell out
simple complications
in a bar
full of people

who want nothing more
than a fistful
of such slick trouble.


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