Hunting With MasaiDawn is spear and
shield and gun recklessly left behind. We move in a single line. Last night they chased away a missionary and we lay. Mine is the god of the Hebrews I explained, mountain born like N'gai. He is not desirous of you and only one of mine has seen his face. His mountain had boiled gravely and he built a vessel of lava rock for a climber overcome to voyage fire home. When Masai Raise Their SpearheadsWhen Masai raise
spearheads to Ngai at his falling wordless leave, they mirror unsheathed swords of city heights, wavering in the breath of the unseen. All mystery is powerless before the respiratory fate of light as you wash your face, your back to me. It is time to admit, as I brush sand from your feet, the odds that a universe dimmed will draw you in again for release. You will be lost as four hundred planets at first count are waterless, or put in safekeeping of molecular cloud. Somewhere distant, I will be noble gas or fleeting charge. We will meet, but incorporeal as gods. AnzioOh they were alive
and playing cards in an eight foot trench that was covered like Eve and I had point alone on our Italian beach. The Germans had artillery so reaching that grunts robbed of rest - all of them- might disappear unclaimed for weeks. I caught a private and brought him back at dawn. The captain said, take him there behind those trees and hurry back. To kill like that. I marched behind the bastard and he knew and wept. I was seeing things from lack of sleep. I saw my father standing on the platform by my returning train, the haunted question of him; I saw stars on collars finally unpinned and the manual of arms above our barn filled with grain. The German knelt and light specked him unfed and leather hooved. There were leaves and I was dappled too. My FatherMy father took me to the park
where an old man was walking a dog. I rushed to the dog and asked his owner what breed he was. His speech came slurred, from stroke, and my father made up a reply. My father said the owner was saying he was a fine dog, ever faithful and that owner and dog were the best of friends. Flash forward to my father's last appearance publicly at a meeting of Englishmen. He'd forgotten where we were or what was required. I spoke of caravels bearing reason to outposts beyond reach of sun. That a ship had borne him where he formed a bond to the Island People undimmed and standing now. I said my father believed the only surety in a storm was the fastness of common law and for this knowledge his gratitude could not be expressed. There was an ovation and I stepped back. Bronx SongI wanna be wich you. By the chain
link fence on the corner we walked past (where I kissed u when u stopped and looked at me and went, Dude) There was a street lamp shining through the fence onto a skip of oil and something turned around. Then I came home, now thinking about u. U stepping into day. On Sunday, when even the Korean people are a little nice. When the cooking smells are horns. Hey, you know that red like the truck outside Schwartz’s on flower day? That’s the red I wanna see u in and you know and hey, that smell when we were close, you buy that at the store? I saw your Mom there and I go, Miz Hernandez , lemme carry those and we walked to your place and I look up and your Mom goes, love, it’s like guava Comments? |
Come, Beloved ☊I am hungry; come soon. I looked
tonight at flames like you upon the west and jewels winging home. I hold you in my eyes when I see what cannot be stamped again. All the earth is of a kind but for the rarities that clamber unknowing of their gifts on vales of purest light, and look at the common life of us in shade. Come beloved, soon. Isn't It AmusingIsn’t it amusing that they think
we’re too old for...and don’t see when our passion stirs? They don’t notice your hand reaching over to arrange my letters in the middle of the game. Do you know I love those hands most tenderly when they’re making tea? And then, again, in the middle of the night when you touch my arm and, wordless, ask me to begin a ballet. You know, I think making love to you starts in the music of steps in snow or your look into your purse for a lozenge when my mouth is dry. Yes, that’s the flag, that’s the pointing daystar. In the HotelIn the hotel, unlocking
doors of time and space, I knew we were met when each was newly made. I knew the laws were dust like dying stars and worshipers lifting scrolls, jeweled and dressed, are blind. My love, I follow until the expiration of the sun; my grail lays sleeping far away and turns her head alone; but an arc of burning dreams hurries hours away and lashes the horses of our wait. At the ObservatoryAt the observatory, I can
watch all the water mills of galaxies. I deny every injury in me and long to see not backward but to forward cliffs. I think the consequence of you is written into the structures we cannot know but by candles in our room. Do you unfurl for me? No, rather it is starry in your eyes naturally and I want you to order all the murdering unstained from paper histories. I deny sacredness not born of your womb, your hair the thousand gestures of lovingness that fall in gravity. TwoIt defies logic so
Beautifully, this love. .Fall my love and I will Rake the leaves. You a Certain ChordYou a certain chord or
movement of a dance as you crash in a tide and spill like music or drugs into blood and we down onto sheets, your hair in kapok roots and I think: what bird is this, with wings outspread, crying under me? For My SonI will not waiver or protest
that the wait is hard to bear; The parent-to-be is patient for the child he cannot see, knowing that eternity is rounding unknown seas to fishing nets. My beloved, I wait. I stand upon the beach, my arms are wide, you must swim to the sound of me and lights undreamed. We shall be coins of sides alike and sleep together in the shade. You are the growing length of me that lays upon a floor of leaves and says, there is no end to light or closing of the day. There are only clarions that pierce the dark with mirror songs like these. ♢ |
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