Liz Taylor’s Lovers – for Ted Joans

he wants desperately to
do different things
he stretches out his arms
& the leaves come to him

he is a poet

he puts out his american hands
& grain grows from their
fingertips
like the fine hairs of his whitened
beard

he wants to do things differently

he turns grain into loaves of bread
& offers it to beggars
they turn & run
for in truth
it is a different kind of hunger
they seek to quell

fine hairs @
the end of his chin
are like whitecaps on a
winter sea

he was born to see things differently

smoke & shadow
are what he is made of
he draws the leaves to his breast
as if they were his children
he expels air & like the worm
he was born

born to do things differently
desperately wanting to do different things

he gathers himself in
smoke & shadow
like fine-grained hair &
whitening seas
form his dangerous skin

he draws the air to his breath
as if it were his woman
he looks but sees nothing
his palms are dark but empty

no loaves
no grain
leaves heaped about his
feet

he is a poet
& truth
the beggar
asks him
for some bread.