Saturday, September 26, 2009

Between Eater and Eaten


I see this day
Blooming with names a moment
For walking and promises.
Attention, breathless, caught on
The face of Saturday they appear,
Singing for their suppers
Displaying the antithesis of aureoli
Professing the greatest love then crying
Too late taking from
Pocket and purse the friend of passion
The name of names.
I see their faces on the water.

Between the eater and the eaten
A deed that takes some doing
Requires a little chewing
Time for moving the
Plate from finger to lip
From hand to hip
Walking about old Dublin
Eyes returning
The design is straight for
Emphatic women wondering where
Next they may be eating while
The heart sends its bill for paying

A new Adam now argues with the wind
And is told it can kiss my ass
Settled down between a laugh and some
Different form of adultery, like, say, with a snake,
Eve’s attempt to speak to wisdom meets with loud silence
Until she can no longer bear the suspense
Which is mainly in the form of a sculpture
Of a crying onehanded trickster
Who slithers along a column holding up some poetic disaster?
“I see what you mean ,” dribbles a spitting mouth
Neckless but eating nonetheless
I like that! says the perfesser
I like that- I see what you mean!

None could tell Penelope
Her man was not coming home
Professing Helen’s heart
Lost that morning in some New York cab
Con te partiro
Where? Where?
Hello, you palm of beauty you
Noble point of hope along the route
Of sorrow and suffering
Where the deliverer discovers her emptiness.
She floats, now (deus nobis haec otia fecit- motherfucker!)
She floats far above the water and bitter book
Becalmed in some airy circuit
Where none could tell her.

The end of the wind
Weary of the day along the
Island of June plums
We stare at our own
Blame a tickled one a
Peace added to the sum of promise when
We wind up in Palestine as
An old god sitting on some
Cracked pavement the
result of so many
defenestrated statues.

Goodbye, Aeolus.

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