lover

Campfire

The light fell on us
and you noticed how     
I had dropped the eye/I
to see 
without a maze of mirrors

I used to write
"you and I"
[self-reference is for famous poets?]
with regard to 
a Pozzo and a Lucky,
but as the language decreed,
the twigs had snapped
into the baritone of the firewood. 

yet
I seem to think
there is a little bit of "we" 
about us
in the bite of the fire--
we are together in chaos,
if not order. 








Head of gold

 

I forget poetry.

The lover in the sky consumed by the city fumes,

I forget poetry and then I forget myself.

 

Why do their faces fill up with boring operas

Announced like an airport flight, I fly

Like a man inside a coral,

There is no end to how we will feel,

For how many we will feel.

 

In his face a mirror,

There you will see a self, performed—a mere body of naught

Strangled with wish-locks of what I want to be.

Nude him of desires, can you love a skull?

To love not to be loved.

 

Once upon a gentle day,

There blows the breeze sweeping away false candour

And I am here lying awake upon the moon,

Once again throwing out poetry for you to catch, revived,

As if all their workers paid, the union sigh,

In me lay tipped, several glasses full.

 

I see a face.

I see a bony man when the night is full.