Menu

Results for category "2011"

23 Articles

There’s nothing more

0 Comments
admin 
                1
The ideal is unyielding melody,
powerful, restless, continuous —
half-simpleton, half god, the great symphonist
He once thought her the love of his life —
but now she’s just a cranky, old, prune-faced,
sleaze fuck, from Forest Hills
Meanness, hysteria, self-sacrifice...
The great professor could work no miracles
He cut into his patients who revered him and
with great skill, and the best intentions, mutilated them
“You work on the water and you smoke too much...” said the seer,
who sees only what we already know
                2
He was devout, that clown, he prayed deeply, so reverent, everyday
He even encouraged his house slaves to do the same
With red hair and yellow teeth, that Bozo...
He walked on the stage intense and ready
To the piano he resolutely began to play
Then he’d abruptly stop and ask the audience
“Did I play that right?”
When they showed their approval he’d
raise his hand to stop them and
he assured them that before it was okay
but that now, at last,
he’d play for them as only he could
                3
Like an old lion, solitary, watchful
with visions of greatness, dreams of rescue
We’d disappear to the sides of his mind — we are
puppet-like characters easily moved, then discarded
He derived great pleasure in assisting those
whose wounds are self-inflicted
He would never decide what to do in haste
His deep-seated rage was for toughness and order
Some thought him part tone-deaf and quite elusive
By nature reserved and solitary, he’d grow up to say
“I’m old, I’m rich and
there’s nothing more they can do to me”

-February 16, 2011-

The Forgotten City

0 Comments
admin 
                1.
The forgotten city sleeps
Its scars make him dangerous
“That blockhead loves that hooker, that bitch...”
He breaks the smuggler’s creed,
cuts his arms in frustration like a child,
“Remember those who love you back, they rarely...”
There’s little truth beneath her words
We look for good substitutes, new scripts
No one waits so we die by chance
All those porcelain lives, accidents
                2.
I feel your heart beat next to mine, I hold you…
Part of me thinks there will be no others,
no substitutes
It’s an act of faith to think my thoughts
have anything to do with you or come near you,
bitterness, graceless, beaten back
Hard laughter seems like tears to me,
exhaustion tightens my legs
and my love spits blood in the streets, even
the right things change
                3.
He thought her chatty, though she never said a word to me
He called her “prune-face” as in “You old prune-face!”
but told us she was beautiful when...
Gentle hands rubbed her back...passionate hands
In a world of private suns she learns to wear her knowledge lightly
When it rains, white pearls rain for her
She tries to be understood and even makes a little sense
Life isn’t confused if you just know how
Black ice is invisible, we couldn’t see...
I kiss her and she’s gone, again

-January 30, 2011-

But to see her cry…

0 Comments
admin

(inspired by Jacques Brel’s Voir un ami pleurer)

Of course, there are fierce wars
   far worse than the noxious violence here
Of course, there are the swank dressed brutes
   without music, huddled together in tribes
And money, of course, has little odor
   but stinks up the house, nevertheless
But to see her cry...
Of course, we lose everything, many times
   wretched defeats and then death at the end
Her body already leans that way now
   Amazed at herself, that she can still stand
Of course, there are unfaithful women and
   murdered birds with bruised wings fall
But to see her cry...
Of course, all our lovers just go away, and
   our times go too
The mirror is honest, spectral, dry
   We have neither the courage of their words
nor the grace she desires
   We want to burn clean but we melt like wax
But to see her cry...

-January 14, 2011-