You Returned
Stephen Mead
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my body to me.
The opening opened well,
the bone house gone moss,
the fog assumptions of sun,
sun shapes everywhere,
& each a mouth. Deep south,
the small moans, all stems sprouting,
covering touch, touch covered them,
air on buds given back to the roots
wet with lit indigo, purple, ruby,
the darkness of blood
glowing life, life glowing
as you went, as your were meant to
because our bodies are partly gifts
& for moments, only for moments,
are the packages whole.
Sitting in the Rain
Sitting in the Rain
Stephen Mead
No umbrellas or plastic Five & Dime hat,
these drops the best cover, & it is listening to open,
this being lake-wide, this sponge-skin of receiving
tongues washing right down, grooving to the deep
sweet lucidity rising, expanding, a slipping in to sing
these arias that do not keen.
Resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, thestephenmeadchromamuseum.weebly.com, Stephen Mead is a retiree whom, throughout all his pretty non-glamorous jobs still found time for writing poetry/essays and creating art. Occasionally he even got paid of this. Currently he is trying to sell his 40-year backlog of unsold art before he pops his cogs, Art Collection from Stephen Mead.
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