Daily Archives: February 6, 2022

FASCINATING REPULSION OF THE PREGNANT MAN

In my office there is this guy
who can’t keep his hands
off of me; a brush on my leg
a touch upon my shoulder
a hand on my arm; I am
not too sure what repulses
me more — my fascination
of this repulsive feeling or
that he is a man and married
and I, a guy!

05-14-2015 ::


A Bell in The Vineyard

WEEDY tender vines,

potted plants in parks,

and the moon, appearing

in the morning – a moulin heard;

a clump of shrubs murmurs

like bells in a vineyard.

:: 02.05.2022 ::


BLESS YOUR HEART FOR THE SONG YOU SING

I’d kiss your lips;

Crush them like grapes,
and lick up the sweet juice.
You’d smile at my kiss;
You’d turn, and let me go
to go far away.

Then, like the girl in the fairy tale
you’d try to outwit me
and return once more
to that thought, which you knew,
that still creeps upon your sleep,
the thought that it should

Be this way, somehow, all of the time.

All the time. For me.
Always for me.

Because that’s all you ever wanted to know.
And that’s all I ever wanted to tell you.
God bless your heart for the Song you Sing.

:: 02.05.2022 ::


IN HELL EVERYONE IS A POOR POET

I know:

It’s a good thing that no one should see me.

With frightening calm, I was watching what was going on, how he had the most extraordinary power over a number of human beings that human eyes had never seen.

Fearful but it’s a good thing, it will happen very often to a person, to dissolve, desiring the fulfillment of a precious human dream, “seek what will keep me satisfied” you can call the dream.

To make a great stand, the, “i wish.” Would it be enough? i, a whole human being whose heart was absolutely beating in the pit of a stomach, a first scream. I’m now a solid conversion of helpless salvation.

Everyone in hell is a poor poet.

How nature takes advantage of my existence of my innocence. I ate the letters and numbers of all languages but still human alchemies, mysticisms and fake perfumes are weak against that frightening calm.

And still, Hell asks for an encore when i stand upon that brimstone stage spewing my moonlit 3’o clock prose.

:: 02.05.22 ::


KAQCHIKEL

WHO has been so shy with the truth—
that has made the apotheosis of you an ordeal
from which you have not quite arrived? Listen:

it is the voice of those who stand near, the people you love,
who knew and loved you best. You are their sun, and you
are still this sun, still their sun, the sun of a homeland
nearer than their other homes, the center of a garden
unburdened of yews or pines, the middle way in this world.

———where was this homeland to be found,
this refuge or dance: lightness of your steps,
salt of your hair, the voice that made their hearts
inhale—over there in a Pusan train station,
in a mindhood from Hanoi, perhaps in an O’Brien family.

So let us wander together in the evenings, let the teeming
skies be clean, the mastic perfume adorning the cactuses and
trees, as these have spread its fiery fragrance, to grace the
fires of the cabanas with myriads of lighted cinders. let the
light of the evening sunset descend from behind the edge of
the Seine and bathe us with the sparkling waters of the
Ajoagua River in the region of Guatemala, where the Kaqchikel
people have danced to the music of the Fuego’s clashing pyramids. —
— the strata, the rocks, in the Pisco region of Peru.

There, yes there.
We find Love.

:: 02.05.2022 ::