Come springing me with your green tongues velveting every down I look softening tumbles with your sprawls be every place that isn't tree be all of toes and moistly feet be evermore than evenly be a million whispers in eyes be blankets under (never on) be perfect pockets of new hands pinkly printing your wordless names into her arching shadowless spine, tracing earthly runes on my knees. (Come as the long folded omen). (Come summering promises); (grass).
a greenly canopied thin spirally veining into thicker what's soon trunking through the dirt to as many roots below as above suns deeper and under leafs further as reddening acres come (drip, boil) sweetening over pancaked butters as July firsts us with (never patrioted but this is free gazing) dribbling gyroling keys.
throbbing jagged it bobs and weaves on the edge of patience, this stone in you. ( icy ) it numbs giddy tongues disables nimble fingers it lays on this small bed between us and there is no reasoning w/ it. ( lodged ) It only speaks rock. I'm at a loss. I mean I speak a few words in liquid try to stream over it but it won't be diluted. ( solid ) The sheets are pinned to the mattress it's too heavy to lift too heavy to pry, shift, too heavy to beg. Use my heart as a lever under its jagged throbbing wedged pressing, it cries. (please, no) This cold refugee gasping at the shores of our new love, it's old fingers grip the pebbles pleading.
Come silvering into paper captures of this all suddenly wide opening brightly bursting this once into always remembering as windingly dark enclose tight until enlarge is develop what's look at this photograph of-
So having hurled me into the dark mound he stood windowed, watching me stagger deep into the soil with my arsenal of proud shovels, standing in shirtless rain desperately wheel barrowing across vaguely instructed arenas of such tremendous scrutiny, resulting in demonstrative sudden (NO) accidents And with aches shyly branding all of spine, this suffer goes blisterly through red hands as enough for now offers its (yes) rest to bind respect shackly with labour as exhausted gentlys between fingers a preciously wistful flower daughter.
:: bio ::
Gil Garrat is a theatre artist in Toronto, primarily an actor and playwright but also a director and designer. He is currently the playwright in residence for Theatre Direct Canada, and is developing a piece for their 2004 season entitled Dogs Lie (the Democracy project). Though he has been writing plays professionally for five years now, Garrat has been secretly writing poems for ten. Of the currently twelve plays he has written, all but two have been produced or presented in some public manner, and one piece Vicious Little Boyz in the Rain has been solicited for possible publication by Chirago Press.
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