Peter Leon

Dana of The Painted Corn Husk

I Catch A Glimpse of Her Disappearing In The Labyrinth of Studio Spaces.
Reappearing In The Morning Lost Subways of My Heart
A Small Wave of Her Hand...
A Hunched Over Meek Smile.
I'm Certain She Meant No Harm.
Not In This Lifetime....Not Forever!

Once Dressed In Paint Smeared Overalls.
Beneath The Silent Sun.
The Quiet Woman Surfaces In The New York City Light of Day.
Then She Submerges With An Old Sun In Her Hand Stitched Trousers.
Walking Down The Corn Husk Covered 4th Floor Painting Studio.
The Aurora Borealis Springs Forth From Her Quiet Heart.
And I Sit By The Window Dangling My Legs Over The Factory Railroads.
With A Worn Notebook of Hand Scratched Poems And Phone Numbers From The Old Painted Queens Kept Busy In A String Tied Deck of Cards.
I Stand Tired In The Junkyard Placent of Her Birthday.
I Bring Her Photographs From Old Medical Magazines.
And Her Eyes Are Like Pennsylvania Turnpike Mountain Tunnels.
All Her Suitors Arrive On The Sabbath.
Candles Lit And Children At Her Feet.
And I Sit Beside The Railways With A Cigarette And The Heavy Freight of My Railroad Dreams.

The Quiet Woman Disappears In The Smoke.
And Is Lost To The Notebook Directories.
And The Rabbi Tries To Speak Backwards But He Just Can't Find The Passage Left By An Unemployed Prophet.
Washing My Hands In Lamb's Blood.
I Savor Paper Notes In A Pocket Full of Silver Coins.
I Am Lost In The Smoke On A Northern California Day.
I Lay Down Beneath The Laws Moses Brought To Me From The Mountain Morning Fog.
I Am Nailed To The Cross With A Longing Just For A Kiss.
Staring Into The Sun With A Hershey Bar And Handful of String Tied Letters From My Grandfather.

So Now I Sit Down Beside The Creek With My Bare Feet In The Refreshing Bubbling Waters of Morning.
My Attic of Incomplete Poems.
My Tongue Is Tied With An Empty Kiss.
And It Is Still The Song of Railroad Midnight And I Look Out The Window Alone.
So I Just Unwrap A Chocolate Bar And Have Another Cigarette.
The Clock On The Wall Says It's Midnight In This Hospital Linen.
My Roommate Keeps Me Awake Snoring Something Awful.
When The Angel of God Comes To Me In The Darkness I Am Sleepy Eyed And Half Naked.
So I Drink From The Blood of Christ And Find Myself Playing Solitaire With A Deck of Cards I Hand Cut From The Obituaries of The Evening Newspaper.

The Long Dark Braids Fall About Her Breasts.
Her Eyes Are Like Old Christmas Trees.
Her Religious Song Is Silent.
I Am Like The Neighborhood Newspaper Boy On His Bicycle...His Dog By His Side.
Kicking Sand Into The Creek With A Handful of Poisonous Poems Let Loose In The Powerful Nocturnal Winds.
So I Lay My Head Down Into The Tall Grasses.
And The Universe Is In The Tub Going Clockwise With Old Poems And A Used Bar of Soap.
My Eyes Slowly Close And My Memories Are Enraptured As I Reach Out For Her Long Dark Braids.