I can’t believe

I can’t believe that subtle, fine mind is gone...
He dreamt the mellow, orange violin was broken
angrily into two rough, unfixable shards
The one with the lion’s head so expertly carved
Too cruel...
Why would anyone do that?

Nothing sexual is ever straightforward...
Today he’s an ignorant stiff piece of wax
with an old-fashioned gnawing, acrimonious temper
He judges wrong when he doesn’t feel right
Note, she isn’t watching him now because she loves him
with a frenzied look that parodies her more youthful rages

The imagination’s so delicate
that even words can wound it
The secret’s to content oneself
with a few passing, pleasing, pleasurable sensations
We delight in those crass fictions
as pitiless and as impudent as ourselves

She has almond shaped eyes
and a nose a little too big for an Asian girl,
an oval face, thick lips, light black hair, sweaty olive skin
Awkward and beautiful at once
with a hardness, an obtuse naiveté...
One day you’ll be so loose and free, she says

A splendid banquet can’t supply the needed appetite
Neither gold nor jewels can evoke or find for him her lost face,
nor pleasures fill the loss of affection
nor passions stifle this cruel consciousness...
You’re so despised when you don’t excel them
You’re so hated if you do

Only true friends are really pleased at your good fortune
He was last seen eating awkwardly, dreamily
from some gilded, ceremonial plate
His virtuoso haste and risky, impudent cunning
emblemize some older plaintive, gut-riled, golden former state...
He evokes for our fond delights another time, another age, another place



-March 31, 2013-