The Song of Inappropriate Desire

tree circles 2

By G. Murray Thomas

Like the moth to the moon.
Like the moth to the disco ball.
Like the dancer to the train yard.
Like the train to the point of infinity.
Like the mathematician to chalk dust
to the eraserto the number of the names of God.I am drawn to you.

Like the cattle to the cattle prod.
Like lightning to the same old spot.
Like the river to the power plant.
Like e-mail to a manual typewriter
to eight track decksto cuneiform etched in mud.I am drawn to you.

I awaken to vultures
singing outside my window.The vultures sing about the mirage,
desiccated corpses shimmering on the horizon.The corpses dream about the Sea
of Tranquility.The moon wishes
for a moth.

Like the hummingbird to stained glass.
Like the saint to the confessional.
Like the sin to the itchy palm.
Like the Bible to the demented mind
to the one-eyed kingto the prose of the infidels.I am drawn to you.

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