this. this, looking

The photographs that circulate
Hiding and coming from beneath,
Showing nothing for symmetry.
See that mosquito,
Floating a few intransmissible seconds
Against the rectangular colour of light,
He will find his way.
That bastard,
Tasting my blood in a minute I am sure.

And swallowing that glutton’s shadow
Lying in a room naked,
Watching your bodies rise after a long time
Eavesdropping on the movements behind that door,
You imagine yourself in an orgy
Or the king beckoning his prize for sex,
Then the sounds do not call out.
How these fucking myths live.
Dangerously
My fantasies bear no mention in my will.
That silence is an empty wooden jewel box,
I carry wealthy shit around,

Listen to your father.

There is he around you, leaning with a neck of fond. I watch reflectively, that he is my object. And there is nothing there, around his eyes. No dark circles, no lines crossing, no wrinkles meeting, they watch like a crow’s beads, absorbing shit and more. And he watches me with them, with love, earthly and bald and there, right there. Sitting there with love. And I do not stop it. What about men with longer hands? They are just luckier. He has beads. He doesn’t look elsewhere. I must remain happy for that he promises.

LE MAUDLEEN PLAY

And then it creeps in again today
Shaking the minds out of its boxes,
And scattering them in the wind
Lulling the body to sleep,
Catching bodies and love
In every step.

Dost thou cry?
In truest spirit of thou word?
Wont to stay in the dark?
Spill the water and the blood!

The male performs,
Killing the little with his eye.
We all suck for food.
Wishes perhaps that would do me
And my life a favour.
Pass me some good.

The air hovers over the bod
die as she sleeps,
for doesn’t all of me dry asleep,
and fighting swords tire?
Carry me and kill the king and queen,
And we may marry multiples.

As I wash my hands in blood,
Will someone wake the body up?
We must run way, sandstorms
Creak well with every race
After all the nights,
They only make noise
And grind sand in the air.

Like you, for me.

I need you to remember
The body of yesterday,
The voice and the air.
You cannot forget the light,
Or its dimming to a nothing hollow and
How geometry feels in the dark,
Later against you nude=
Memorise.
How I traced, the
Nailed finger tips in a swishing of some clothes
Pushing against you, warm still self.
Hold me till I stay,
My breasts, my stomach and my hair
-the compressions in your mind.

Loops of old love

Fearing tomorrows, why do I live,
Love the night and her friends,
Dark, stay, stay tonight.
Let me hear you call
The phone telling me my name again
And again imprinting your love
Through lines of our days
Together.

Crying tomorrow’s tomorrows, laugh.
See the dying day and her child
Know, you must leave,
To lie luck to you without
Me and my coughing laughter,
Resting the time down in my heart
Through the arrows of my mind
Forever.

Light and eye

cradled up, might you see-
the call of unwhitened things-
and disagree in your movement-
of interest into a twinkle-

and I twinkle twinkle

grin at little stars all around
overlook the white walking sound

-that seeing, I forget men who stumble with sticks
-women, of harsh, happy voices
-overseen magic, I stumble into corners
-And live there blind to curves in a lens.

Leaves today

The quietness of my sublime
Merges with faces, talking in
Arrays of genial reflections
Bouncing, leaf dragging down
The soul of my early morning,
And I bind my mouth
Eager embrace of silent words mutter
To me, quiet-quiet,
Warming in the sun, a shadow
Of formless black
Drying to make sound


A time for me to lie,
tossing you there and here
Let the wind cry.

I am the new thoughtful poet,
I shall make you rhyme.

Do you see me look at the sea?
The sea, mucky sea, in the sea, all the sea?
You and I live there
Down near the sea horses with the beauty.

Struck with youth and youth,
I old, I write it on my body
[poet, poems, I’ll spread my legs]
Do you see me look at the sea?

The day gods silence my sea,
Covet my echoes in the water
and run hiding to the doors of dead, brown wood.
Do you see me look at the sea?
I be by the window. I be.

I cover in paper, wrap
To call you near the sea
I’ll kiss you away from the window
away from the salty see-me sprays,
wait. But do you see me look at the sea?

Bright little stars skip me by the minute-
Talk about taking time, straddling or whatever:
You see my common black hair.
What will you do with a cardboard of blackness on my
Curvy little body.

See me.
Do you see me look at the sea?
Throw yourself in,
I don’t come singing in the evenings on a moonlit rock.
I sieve through dear lies
Of looking at a picture,
and writing a thoughtful poem.

You, who spoke.

Writing doesn
‘t ease the stress?
no
soo u gt creative
wen ur depressed too?
no
I write
By hours
Of rain.
The world a silvery globe,
And me its only tree. Of green alone.

Pecadillo

I have just smoked.
Yes, I done it again and not care.
I move my tongue and memorize the taste
I apply balm to the dry lips
I swing I glide free.

And I have not fought
Or drank water
Or shut my room

I want you to see.
The chamber music in my head,
The sadness of the strings
By your very voice.

Amen, smoke in the air.

Preview

It is here, the flowers falling
They board thoughts of mercy to the cold
And float down
Touching to feel the air the last
And kissing the others unto their death
Touched away from faces upward
Sun breaks no light at fleeting drops

MY MAN-PSYCHOLOGIST

Oh, thank you

Hapless man,

With all your love for common coffee and rain.

By sleep alone, rectifying dreams to form sorrows

I can mull over as I walk alone

Step on step without the lines

Dear man. Come here. Thank me in my dread,

I love you in my very dread to dread to dread from dread by dread on dread

This is my free fall.

Look, I murmur-mur heavy lines

To look a neurotic and escape your definition,

You easy, simple psychologist, you want your sick patient.

Dear man.

No, you don’t know you can’t see through,

You don’t even wear spectacles, not even them.

Pickles of lying, spicy carved animals

Under a thin layer of, I built civilisation

To avoid you savages of green and brown

Dear, dear man, hold me and do not look.

Love, love man, eat me up but do not look.

ME.

one day you shall come in,

with all the people you can find

and discover in my room

the acrid smell of gas and love

i do not say goodbyes i know

i never did

remember?

even as a little girl,

my hatred for those waving, flailing arms?

it persists.

i might not leave a note,

then i might

it shall all depend on our luck and my literary moods.

i will be found clean and happy-

my eyes may wear a surprised view

but i tell you, i will be happy,

like i never was

that which is not momentary and not momentary.

i will be tidy for a change

and arrange my books in rows,

leave my clothes in closets and no lights on.

it will be some occasion

may be i shall celebrate it with wine yesterday

yes, i know you won't.

you will cry and scream and call me ungrateful

and unconcerned and ruthless and unemotional

i am, i am.

but watch me in my joy

and mutter me wishes,

for i am taking this forward,

me and this life.

CONDOLENCES

I keep dead flowers for my cruelty.

Inconsiderate me, and thousand dead flowers.

Consider this:

Dancing on a dying man’s heart and sleeping

That joyful slumber of the cats while you watch them.

God, if thy claims are true,

Thou must be angry with this unruly child

For I am not thy sheep. Silly sheep.

I am an unfeeling lady with interests.

Passions, preferably.

It is not a habit.

It is my eyes which stare,

Eyes carved unskillfully on objects which see me.

You won’t call me cruel

Because you love me, and I know it

Even while I watch you

I know it

Even while I kill you, die

My widow dance would be an event

Of the highest scale

So I will walk free,

Sly criminal, covered in flowers,

Walking free.

Yes, the price one pays for freedom.

UNWRITTEN

Serenade to ruins and rubble,

Play in muddy water.

Light eclipses my dread, sorrow, pain...

I must wish happiness

While I walk on earth and forget hell.

Call it an obligation of wistful smiles

This threadinng of life,

owes life to its morbid provenance.

Lay, lay, my poems, my souls;

I will write you still.