Friday, February 11, 2011

Poem: "The Tongue" by Chris Martin

As some friends and readers here know, I once wrote poetry, some of which even was published from time to time. I don't really write much anymore, other than the occasional poem, but I still read and enjoy poetry.

Every once in a while, I am going to be posting poems here from known and unknown poets that are by and/or about men. I will also try to find an image that goes with the poem, preferably a painting or photograph.

If you know of a poet or a poem I might like, please drop me a note.

Today's poem comes from This is from Chris Martin's collection called American Music. The painting is by Georgia O'Keeffe, "Canna Red and Orange," which recently sold for nearly $1.8 million.

The Tongue
by Chris Martin

for Ben Estes
So taste
as day
rearranges the red
and orange flowers
from tongue to tongue
like losing the cymbal's
clang for all its glints
we crept behind the moon
which always insists on sleeping over
barely a belly for a mouth
an hour past the movie
we were still filming
the way food fills
each curving lapse
between your teeth
or song
in sheets
against the windshield
no one believes
air is the enemy
so don't be afraid
to breathe all this speech
someone already died to say
the moon is on the couch
so we climb onto the roof
where our bellies swell open
to slosh and go flowers
red and orange flowers
hairy and pink-stemmed
like champagne flutes
we always overuse
everything that
happens happens
wrong if not
by tongue's might
in the little time
left before sun drives
all the workers into work
all the workers into work

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