Not all is spiritual. Denials Come in un-words,
reinforced supports that still us from rolling with the earth’s
Lovemaking—heaving over our faults into crevices
inviting our thousands bodies to swoon in the crush
of our Self wards land. We stimulate its pleasure, its tectonic
shifts of Here am I, denying your mind
support, spiritual minds, Conceptual manners,
dismissive walkers On my body that loves your moves,
feels your masteries Of imagining you are placed; well,
I can roll over, too. My foot fell
on your land and walked Its tip-toed path to the yards
Where rose the builders of the stay, the builders
of our play, and felt secure, invited
up At right angles, riser, riser Up
to the floor with the view. Your feet falls on me
and walks Its running, steady, pounding gait
In the yard, in the valley, up the mountains, Through the stairs, into rooms,
and out of Doors, the risen yours, playing, staying Over me,
the jealous denier of your spiritual Instincts. For mine
is larger, heavier. When I roll over, lovemaking is faults
And crevices, swallowed bodies and buildings, Skewed
surfaces, twisted bridges, I am that
heavy, This drawn, my non-spiritual substance
Upon which you stand and build and walk And bury
your lovers, just beneath my skin—that spiritual.