Mountain Sex

She lays back with deliberate sway Like the most willful sort of dusk Exhales humid breath the way night expels day - And moves with the hips of a dark athletic musk – She taps a carnal beat on wrinkled bark, In dark skies of expectation and fertile dust. This lady knows every climber's destination – She knows the dribbling wantoness Of every cicada's bleating encantation A sonic texture of the mindless climb - She beckons to the showy nudenesss of wildflowers and husky pine; She even knows the hollow tongue caress Of the Monarch butterfly on the go Fresh off his trip from Mexico. This lady reclines with the same sureness of sex That teenagers think of what sex is about - With the compulsion of a highway wreck - Arcing form and jagged boastful breasts She beckons forcefully with tectonic clout - With slender waist and leafy hair that rests On face and neck, dressed only in evening cloud - She calls outward toward a species insurrection, “Climb on, climb on!" this barbaric cry incites this late day resur-erection. M B. 2005

Peanut Shells

I shake them to the ground,

These little somethings like fractured bones,

Only to eventually toss these remnants

Of some unuttered thought,

Like peanut shells,

Onto the floor,

Many, scattered and noisy –

And after all the sweeping I have done!

M C Biegner 4/2005