My phantom limb
Reels in the whirling north sea
while all I do
Is touch my lips
Drawing out
the philtre’d memory of your
Kisses like symphony
and of crimson texture.
White heavenly embers
have traced your figure.
Your smile is immortal in you. After all, It was your eye’s smile Assured me this love true.
Kisses like symphony
and of crimson texture.
Your smile is immortal in you.
The wind’s cut,
and the dust is aromatic.
summer gorgeous.
***
I got burned when
the cold circle of the sky
said, hello, this is the darkness.
***
reflection of the moon
in the black pool,
looks good enough to eat.
***
sometimes i dream
i am a droplet
rolling off a silky leaf in the jungle.
***
bald rubber,
rocky highway,
phantom rolling off the rubble.
***
When I write Haiku
I am Roshi Joshu Jushin
and I place Mu in a glass of water.
The streets here look like newly paved black gold
Lined with moss speaking conquistador’s beards
The Americas aging to god knows what
And the conquests have hardly begun.
Today brought carriages running up the boughs of trees
Forward through all directions, endlessly.
Mother Progress weeps dumbfounded, abandoned.
To all Copper and Clay
I address this new age, and I salute your flexibility.
Night no longer possesses inhuman demons.
Only true light.
Sweat cools in this heat.
Heat the Spanish ate
While the nude west sweats before the smartly kindled flame.
Insects tilt their noise towards gilded leaf.
…Elephants still cross the Alps, I’m sure
And Hannibal unites banners of several gods
With few words sans promitto.
…Impossible for this to be the same sun!
Our native sun pale green, as copper at sea!
We have been cleaned, abolished of our heir!
Lex talionis padme hum…
now before she brings the whole body to me
the night is long in the meadow grass
without rays of light skin invisible of sex-kitten falling out of love
model of cryptic body symbol as revelation
just moon-walked into tantalizing famed position
her carnal crown rusting purple
breathing lust and aromas with her cheap surgical mask
and a wispy tone of voice asking to share my human side
with all the fears of potent harmonic motion permeated
the gatherings of blue shades
when the black night imposes shadows comes across and clothes the opposite house
every minute is counted as temporal blindness of my innermost spirit
that refuses to post anthems and lamentations as it cuts the corners of my soul
and since darkness belongs to the domain of death floats narcotic to the distant dreams
to find new faces new masks new voices with arms of woman and myth of lips
crossing the bridges of shades and abstractions of forgotten memories
the trees have become souls, the street has become an absence of forms
now the rain comes and plays its inaudible aria sensual epilogues to the windows of the world
the night ,the night, her. i am in her arms for ever
when the aegean sky bends its horizon to touch your hills and your mountain tops
no shine breathing life into your crevices expecting the low light surrogate
of your phospherized rainbows retired masterpieces of the opaque sand
words unfinished manuscripts ever -widening circles of melancholy to arrive.
progenitors of my metric life
touchstones without climax
a lavish heart raided by the wind
confiscated by your el greco beauty
constructions of light lyrical tones
recreating lucid pipe dreams
streaking away to the unknown journeys
rendering glowing sea waves with aqua purity
rasping sexographs of existentialistic resonances of self
and now the first shadows died
your sensuality an opening,a promise,a moira
a stone a cross of love
woman,sea,fire, all payments of heart with blood
and night and rain yet to come
Yes, Oyster petals,
irridescent and of the sea.
my voice seems clearer
when i break out
the bottle; i seek such flower
as you.
similar in day as in night.
what great poet shall spit at me today?
of what shall it consist?
dining with great devils
can confirm anything and all
through small talks,
in naught thoughts collected
in halls of tall proportion and
sculptures of an hour.
Eliot declares i reek of tins
evaporated of their oil.
So To the River Excrement,
my great friends,
amistad de facto,
mis compatriotas,
my fig leafed and gifted
of days never existed.
To where i give up my luck
in a trough of black cigarettes
all vertically threshed, packed
together in imitation of the
wiry heads of your children,
O River, my lecturer.
[Your children who’s shoulders touch.
who’s lips are pulled tight along
sephia teeth from the recitation of your
cuttlefish inked poems,
its squared metre snapping glossolalia
into familiar
cursed ears…y altro argonauta]
“do not fear,”
was once declared to me.
“infinity i guarantee
but a timeless eternity you may never see.”