Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Soft Edges of Metempsychosis




Eumaeus 606

Attention-

raging singing at your reflection

sheltered in the cup of Abraham

your belladonna some concoction of rapt attention

its language Antediluvian

a poetry of the dead

a dissatisfied yawn a bloodless, quiet act

a reflection of quandary

a speech of sailors

the stare of the broken eye

attention-

these inward labels appear temporary

and have something to do

with our acquaintance with ice


Eumaeus 607

I asked for the night

and was shouted down

a gunshot at the sea

apparently, the water speaks my common name.

I asked for an eye

and some excessive feature

guessed my age

stared at pictures of the dead

and disregarded the weather

I asked for a drink

and newcomerjesus

sank heavily beneath the waves

body bound and turned around

Agony clutching a phony Irish cross.


Eumaeus 608

A face at the nameless window

has a story

like all stories this one has magic

and all stories are about

homecoming

and memory

but this story is like a diamond and

you name your diamond astonishment

then, like all good mariners, you

sail into the beautiful sunrise

and greet the awful, perfect day.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

A List of Fictional Ships





Eumaeus 603

The saddest sounds are like those

of the road, when mistaken for the wind

the deeds of the parasite

arrive

in rare depth

chronically dilapidated

without the slightest intelligence

a matter in need of repair

an evasive love

now grown inquisitive.

we walk together

and in walking

our need for servitude

is our direction.


Eumaeus 604

the diplomat companion

and the paper tourists

return to light

one last time

they understand the nature

of all those heads and bones,

abstaining, now, from any present

surprise is a narcotic

it comes in the shape of a eye

that belongs to misfortune

it comes repeated in confinement

in sooty churches

filled with charred commandments

it comes in eventually trying

to give the truth the slip.


Eumaeus 605

We are bound to our later moments

made of this shallow present,

there,

there,

there.

our curiosity always ends

with our differences

utterly lucky

this fabulous species

all brains and respiration

makes itself handsome to the future

then, then, then.

we are nearly always

bamboozled by the facts