Friday, November 24, 2006

Ice trees

Ice trees

On any position don’t forget to cry
Don’t stop if you get the answer
The moon is full of green trees
Just don’t cry
Don’t behave calling me more
Light up the trees, they are furry
Furry trees of green
Don’t stop to cry
I will be very pleased to answer you
Just call me whenever you want to hear me
And when we want to hear each other
The icicles will be tree green
The moon will be icy
As we walk
Don’t forget to cry
No to hear
No to face
Don’t forget to face
The wide trees of lace
They are bright and wooden
The heart of them is wood
The wood trees, they itch
To behave
The way we made it so
I want to know
What you saw
When you went down
The icy blue mountain
On your back
And the birds were ice
I want to feel what the tree tasted like
Or what the ice was
I want to eat the cookies that we make
I want to cut the moon from its holder
The icy-covered moon
It shoots out furry tears
I feel them in my palm
And I want to hear each other
Furry trees of palm
I want to hear them in my wake

Thursday, November 23, 2006

I am Like a Rose

I am Like a Rose

I am myself at last; now I achieve
My very self, I, with the wonder mellow,
Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear
And single me, perfected from my fellow.

Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heaving
Its limpid sap to culmination has brought
Itself more sheer and naked out of the green
In stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought.

-D.H. Lawrence

(I found this here.)

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Portrait of Me and Vladimir Mayakovsky

Portrait of Me and Vladimir Mayakovsky

Possibly all we have is chemistry
Perhaps it is chemistry that
All we have, this said, the fat man.
It is fire that turns the word.
God has only to turn a letter
To make one word another word
In Russian, God only has to turn
One letter to turn towers into
pastures. What the cold star of pastures!
In Russian, it is I God
In the Russian, the horses here are burning
That God may speak to us, it is towers
We too must take, that we
Refers to the star-infested,
That the cold-star bane is a huge ear.
That the soft flesh is a huge and horrible
Lady, yes, you Vladimir
And we too in the kitchen we too
The stars too, in horrible black trousers
We sit together at light, its huge ear
At tea cookies and violet and the stench of sweet
It is sweet that is the seed.
We sit at tables, it is Russian
That gives us the wood and the seed
It is tables that we sit
In the Agent District of the Third Moscow
A great cat, the provocateur.
And the Alluder, lit where
Mayakovsky lived. It is I
in the light we clink
Together the Tsarist with coffee
It is across the bodies that we eat meat.
It is across the bodies of the stars
You, Vladimir Mayakovsky, and I
Bend down to kiss you, milk aching
From my breasts, and the chrysanthemums of the age
A chemical unlike space here or time
It is you, with gargantuan lips and me
In tribal lip that we here too the stars do speak.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

The dodo bird

The dodo bird

(Raphus cucullatus)

Some have described
The dodo’s beak as actually grotesque.

It was long, pale yellow, and crooked.
But what other thing is like that? The sun!

And the sun upon my winglets
Has made me something no other bird or sun can compare.

And in mediating myself upon the bird
I have found that I could actually love.

My love, what are you that the dodo isn’t?
Economy, the black mark on the sun,

The childless watch over the heavens?
Or is the dodo the thing growing from the sun spoke?

Yes, yes, that is you.