12
May
Dream # 5
draftA Man came to me, handed me seeds, said, well, this is the first lesson: sit and soundly contemplate on strength between legs, love below belly, compassion for caged spirit and give these seeds praise and plant with your oath in that ocean, becoming the fierce crashing sky, your pounding down on the rolling solvency of salty waves . . . This is how all life began and will begin.
9
May
To Purify the Darkness of Unconscious
draftWith these words I’ve been taught, I insert for the grandeur of common women, your legends, the Songs of your honey, the mixing of your pleasing wine for my only thirst's sake; with these words I create, hovering softly above the unfortunate & dying minds is feeling them meaningful; knowing these words are forgotten, mocking, inside of your pretty mouths, pathetic, stuck to the high soles of lovely your shoes, outside and beyond your lovely seeking souls lost, your forever seeking of finer things on earth; I have felt apart from you, unclean in your churches, in your family homes, your bedrooms, while loving, creating all the poems written about the pious women and your eager greeting of greedy men in front of the forgotten meaning of the alter, and when you lie beside me and a working poem, reading your magazines about perfect men; perfect and happy forever weddings to these men, and all your "how to's" to find the future richer men, bedding the richer future men, and how to find what beds best to support your future perfect until-death-do-us-departed and lovely bodies, i have to believe beyond the night of this darkness; this lust in search for the faultlessness of men, this villainous idea which makes no room in minds for the sacredness of a word, or a stanza’s delight; the words I’m taught while in the darkness of longing, is mine meditation on the splendors of your imperfect beauty, that these words will land soundly in your hollow hearts.
7
May
Icons # 1
for loversby a gliding lake, below the overhanging shrouded cloud in a naked room stands a naked mirror, reflecting naked and forgetful you calm and light shoulder he wishes to drape with kisses, two protrusions, and still below, skin upon folded skin; slips for pleasure’s positions. nothing exist in the naked room but you and him, and two trembling and nervous big toes anticipating the explorations, the glimpses, deeper meaning of your heart and your eyes, questions of the illuminations . . . outside, opaque, the city of living is sick.
6
May
I have spent my years studying
draftshapely earlobes, naming them: small sufferings. universal paradoxes, attached and detached as if soft dangling ironies waiting to receive my pen. spiraling earlobes, touching them pleases within, sound gyrating all around & down to find that fracture deep below in the middle where that secret bitterness can turn beautiful and everything from that moment can turn profane. soft earlobes, discovering them as if waking vineyards dark and wanting, opening for my palms, my fingers; harvesting tender ripeness, taking each one into my mouth until they glow like the Sun. I have spent my years whispering, as if my meaningful music might break deafness to love; my tongue drunk and heavy in meaning and in grace.
