N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 0 8

WANDA COLEMAN

SOUL EYES

-- after Coltrane

like twin hearts beating in amber

(flesh) the smoke of a caress rising and

risings/like soaring his entering my secret

solitude where night fighters prowl the terrain

like oboes tickling my ears drawing me into

reverie the lingering tingle of his stubble to

my cheek loving the mist reminiscent of his

recent evaporation like cool desert sand sifting

thru my toes his skin again taunting/begs

me for enfoldment/seducing me into amnesia

like hands softly rhythming on gone congas

summoning groin pulsations/lifting me

by invisible tongues beyond fear latitudes

like sent like received

DEATH DON'T DRINK WATER

death don't like warm hands

don't care much for green plants speckled in

white sitting in little pots soaking up son

shake rattle and roll is one of its favorite songs

death never leaned the 2-step but can sure enuff

shimmy stomp bump-and-grind much ass and always leads

death don't need reefer to get high. ain't into

candy and has a peculiar sweetness all its own

FALSE SPRING

an uncanny raucous chirp chirp is heard

as mockful birds suddenly appear making nexts

quarrelsome with unexpected matings

and the heady blush of bugs 'n such stir 'n sting anew

enthralled lovers stroll neath a startled blue sky

hayfever aroused prematurely ty the lusty santanas

blinds me with sneeze

it is the middle of winter California-style

tell that to the magenta butterflies

blossoms pink and yellow on limbs bared scanty weeks ago

even the trees are deceived

[Poems from: HAND DANCE, Black Sparrow Press, Santa Rosa, CA. copyright 1993 for the author; reprinted here with permission.]