Tuesday, December 29, 2009


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SIRENS 252-253

Chords bronze deepsounding the lure and smack of fluted horn and blown note picking broken morning from the floor. Love is what is left when the warbling becomes too lonely to bear- a rhapsody of sadness; a call of rocky blooms left silent. Pearls breaking jumping from pinnacles- the result of answerless prayers. Alas this sadness cannot last, it is full full full and deaf and bald and coinless with moonlit cock, however, a cock in breast- a moonlight hissing, leaving notes bringing forth and taking up sobs and leaving sails in her hair. Find all these waves and use them to lure us, lure us to fading stars where rocks await. Spike us with the cold and a neverending call; believe in us lost in this silent roar.
Somehow I am filled with the gout of contrast. Tiny men with furious batons come from afar to wrap my epitaph in gold and through it speak into the breath of the wind. Sweet silk kitelike it sails forth upward, to the middle ocean of air of earth, followed by wetlips laughing in the sun. I am done praying and my fingers fly over this hurried halo this fallen whispered steel this sad little amen.
SIRENS 254-255

No light in dark eyes, this laughter springs up just as it has always threatened to. Someone in brown, poured skin walks in-upturned and in sadness she has come for the ears of the all these frightful idiots. Then leaving unmannerly, leaving sake and crate on the shimmery reefs of battered forgetting, she wanders out into the night. Listen, listen, think and I will expire again and again twined in gold and looking for forgiveness as I fall toward that awful bright light. Listen, listen to this gilded tone, the one that reaches out across the water and bids little fingers rushing for plugged ears- ah, and me, here lashed to this blessed mast. For your shells I give you all my self, I give you footsteps and the invisible stain of mercy. (We spend the day, reading the names of the young into the ears of the sweet gods.) Your quivering shouts fill us with ringing- we will think of them not present and melt away, safely, in time.

1 comment:

Pito said...

Great Blog!!!

Nice sketch.

Happy new year.