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Prelude to an afternoon with a faun, it was daphnis and chloe in november, where there were celery and walnuts and silent rotting pages of prospero's books. Enough of them I read to know your face, a love writ just for me. And then I went to dublin, where I found you not, but under green ink wrote words to find your name and there you were one day, long after trying, in a mortal coil. So thankful when you come to me in dreams, your mystic's face, ecstatic in a coil of sound, lilting into the way your eyes sat on my breast like butterflies and your fingers curled polyamour. I let you sleep like a lilly of lead, you miss me, i'm sleeping on your floor beholden and devoted and curled in your morning by your mind to bid you leave as our skeletons conspire, your mars piano hands of marble sang out halley's comet's sickness, neptune's death and pluto's resurrection venus sat patiently by teacups she is as pure as the pool from which you drink, your many planets need no apology, nor the dream where I was kissing thee, finally, in bliss waking with your sleeping marble hands in mind, or freaky liquids in my ear to guide me to goodbye. Heart of hearts, sacred heart, divine heart, heart of love, petal, sweetness, my talented nihilist rise up from your stupor the stupor where you lay. Sweet ecstasy you were long coming and long weeping. You told me to
hold a camera here. At school of seven bells. Get laying. Get dying. Get up succotash! Get up. You were bruised under the bully toe that told you go to school, my brother, what did I know. The distinct feeling of speaking a very elementary language, as trivial as numbers, as if to prove, now we are smart enough to sit in the same room, side by side, in silence. Oh but I see now, the wings you had for me, mother bird, get dying. If I could see you, or I must, I dont know even where you lay down now. Sleepwalked through this geographical impossibility. Time crawls across the sky, like a silent stable nightmare. I creep across my room like the menageries of yoga. A lion, a snake, a fish, a corpse. Where are you my beloved!? How painfully my heart slithers down to the deepest well, I cannot know its name or number, it hides and has no face. If only you might resurrect it. Little girl little girl. I hear and taste the way of his meaning, total love, total hunger. But all my hungers got put on a delicate shelf beside your patient name. They sit on the scale opposite you. You are unfair. They have no weight in your merit and your mercy's eye. A parade of faces I could barely conjure they would say, wrong, wrong, wrong until . . . and slowly at 4 am I would know the way of no fear and no hunger. You empty me of desire and give me such content. And then a tiny kiss technicolor affair. The butterlies flutter forth into the night by the fleur de lis, and jere just played “you are all I need” can you hear it? My empty hips and empty mind wander back to a place of dreaming. I couldn't undrstand the precipice of your kindness, not to hurt me, to kiss me, but not to kiss me, not to make haste with my ugly ways. And a few times then I heard the signs, lovely you once said, i'm crazy about you. What I knew and I know,
is that the other lovers can't and won't have the hours of my devotion, the constancy of my prayer. They will flit through the stage of your heart a giselle. But stuck in the valley of the wraiths of your lost lovers, I will hold your hand through it, succor their demands. Asking for nothing but the bliss of life beside you. The love you have is dreaming, in your crisp square coat, your shoulders an architecture for my mind. You are the crystal on the highway, you are the mirror in the room. You are the statue under the dirt. I cant see you too soon. I'm terrified as ribbons, you avoid my ruthless love. My love spends hours in attention, caring for your needs. Let me hold you now on thursday, and see what is left of love. When you are going and running back to her manor, tell her what I told you. Tell her you are a prince and she must be kindly at all hours unto your waking love. If you are silent in her hello, have for her the memoranda of demands. Tell her she must be kind and calm and well spoken. But I know nothing I have nothing. The city is not a city, it was something I arrranged, a circuit game, like a monopoly of letters on a short fuse. None of it coheres. Only you, in your perfect white dress, beneath the smog of fresno. I had forgot your way about it, all the tender money lies. I have dreams of promise and my forgetting. I can't stand staying or going. I am coming back to rip the meaning from goodbye. I want you to know I am in your wallet like a transfusion card. I am your blood, there is no diffference, no crime. Not for you and I. In this panic we were back again on the heroin of him, in out minds best banter, unenchanted by such talk of foolish things. He had a way with the greyness under his eyes, a greyness you never had. And my teeth fall out of my rotting body, as I try to repair
yours, you, perfect dolly! Keen before the microscope. You are working. I barely understand. The grey smog is splitting my head open like a coconut on the train tracks. Kristin kept writing, writing her way out of the awful stench. The words were perfumed and the foolish gainsayers by the slander of morning finally knew goodbye.
I love you so much there is no cure. I could knit identitcal poems of words with identical stitches, unravel them and knit again. That would be the finality of my love for you, endless repetitions and endless warmth. I have nothing for them, but I promise to follow your iron demands. I will not ask so much. I am sick beneath the cruelty or this mosaic mouth, lying away the bulimia which was a critical death wish. I cannot fathom now, the horror of it then. My throat still burns oceans of vomit, oceans of slender legs, and food, a gross predicament, an insult to the death that would lay me down. Come back then into my arms. The facetious way we play, with words and joy, is the glory of the decadence we hide. In your quiet mind, I see eating you, what is eating me. Nothing could make me happier than to be at your side, and so I will come to you scrubbed and foolish, stinking of herbs. If our voices then chant prison songs, will we know the way of the abbey, of heloise and abelard. Are you what was for me a christian sort of thing, so medieval, with fluorish, oh cave ape, with your precious cave, and secret music, so long as for mecca bound. Undead as of late, clearly. If you scoop my withering bones into an embrace, then know what is contained in the absence of my mind, hungers and pains and symphonies of
thee, of unending love, etc. as my ghost haunts your town. silhouette in black, black velvet in the shadows after the cocktail party, a man like a butterfly but more delicate, whisps of auburn hair, kissed by the verdant air, and your grey eyes and their sorry lashes, batting, and your elegant hands, the face i know is there that i cannot see a symphony in pink, your perfect skin you were elegant, with a prettiness, i never saw before, in your soul. as only once and more i went to be near you, when nothing curled round me the fog of war. there you stood ever dapper, poised with a fin de siecle elegance, it was uncommon, the figure that you cut, or decadence was dorian, it was so fine, so irish, the times, the place we came from, they were like you said, your words falling from the only lips, the words and the way your ear lobe sat in my mouth it would tremble, to behold your whiskers on my cheek, and shudder, would i require new plateaus mysteries unique maison du reve et lumiere a house of dreams i knew with thee when your light beamed so bright into the darkness of my heart it was as i knew the way it was made specially for us a place of care when beside you strumming at your feet like a guitar, that’s what you are to me me favorite toy my favorite boy, a doll, my favorite doll, named happy so you are, always, i feel the way your love it beams so kindly at the people that you meet the stages that you’re on.
you didn’t know, you’d come so far and stay so high so long. but you’ve a way with fate and making it, do as you say, you do. it was then i knew i had a book of you inside my mind again. you were someone else before, but
now you’re you. for book two. the you who were was beautiful and damned, it was gatsby or something aged. it was antique and pure and so refined like my grandmother’s high shelf and old spoons, or father’s cuff links in a box, it was not you in fact these words that cured my heart and longing so much do i feel your suffering sometimes in distance i am closer to the silent things you say and the silent ways that you are you when you are sleeping. i liked her best, even better than before. and when i saw your schoolbook ways go happily all the more and then i saw the way the spark soft left your eyes and i said naught because it matters most of all that you are caught in between the love i made for you at your grave i’ll wait there by the shore the roses endlessly lap at the stream and i cannot express the way you undress my heart and every part of me that’s hidden’s not with you and if pretty people cling to you i’m happy that they do. as i require a way to know whats best i feel not most of all the possibility i cut out my heart and try to care at all for any else but you does not make my heart leap so hard in my chest the way that you suddenly inspire another day when all the greyness in the days it seems the same grey day as the grey day in between by the sea when you were laughing and i chased you like a child. we’ll go back now in time.
you’re quite more lovely than before. i knew age would suit you well and you’d grow more handsome with the years. and when your grey patient hair lays upon your head and your kind winsome eyes already said the hymn. i won’t require a symphony or a cargo plane. money doesn’t make
me fast enough to know the way to forever but there i see the stones so cold in love for you. dali loved gala. and dali lived for her. there were many such lovers. i recite their names. carrington loved stracchey. khalo loved rivera. so too do i love you though circumstance and time laugh in my face and laugh at lies. the lies that i gave you were gambles they were a way of making a few years go by. the years are so slow without you. and as i was leaving you arrived there in my arms. it was the years in prison for you. for that moment, that moment of kindness and love. that is all i remember the joy in your arms, the feeling of you laughing, transcendence and peace. and your hand, your hand, i felt your hands like terrible tree branches in my mind of glass of suffering of time of longing those were your hands.
she suited you well like the jackets you put on and off. i liked the way you beamed in her presence, but then to me, your voice was soft, and i understood you, and we to the edge of darkness, and were you there, it was okay, you said to take of the bitter fruit of the forest and so we did. and back again, in the comfort of your safety i did not feel it, your love was all that i remembered, sitting on vine. you ran ran off to her. i barely minded. it was the way of time. before she made you up something nice, a child. it could be something we did as three. a princess for thee, i am so sorry i failed to find, i wanted to have that beside you. it was something only in the future and then it was better and better by days. so i’m sorry i tasted the taste of the robot god, who spit me back into the corridor of you. he is among your approved suitors, but sadly he undoes my liking. it was only you, i opined. after every lover like a guilty glutton. it was only you, and
you said not the same, we ate of forest fruit like greedy elves. and in passing, we sat to tell tales. of all the people we didn’t really love. instead it was they held information, or monies or certain other things, they held us in spells for times and takings, they held us on for things. but you you were always ever different. the only ever i completely love. so you are the blank canvas of the morning, you are my turtle dove. you are the sunset, you are the choir, in the abbey where sins were reeking you knew the way out of hell when none else did. i was there and you showed me the way out. and you wore your best coat, better was it then to look at the slope of your nose. or feel the length of your feet and your toes. your toes were the godliest toes, i’d ever know, oh-oh. so in the reflection in the mirror i saw us as a two headed monster. there, as our bodies combined in the reflection on floor nine, over the city. and your aura hugged mine. it was the south side, where i met you that day, and we looked out over the smog, it was certain. there was oil under the ground and it was unlike any other oil, in the twenties when it gurgled up over the ground of los angeles. so when your mother takes you back to shore, let her know your future is astute. i say nothing will ever harm you. you are so keenly right in time, in fact you are divine, you are divine. before, i knew nothing then, i was loving you, but not as now. i was circumstantially involved, with passing time. then i was alive enough to live for other things but you. now it is different. in time i have settled down aside the greyish rocks the stone wall, i love its coldness. there in the bleakest hour i feel time stretching over me, with hideous rotations, the greyness of the night gives way, to more destruction, day creeps slowly on,
and the vertical nightmare of walking on the earth, so monstrous without you. i would seek something out for you besides gold, what i wish more to give, is a certain way with time, to make my soul less grey. i thought i could fill it with roses. but when it unfurled the mechanism of hatred, nothing was there and i swallowed the seeds like rocks in your honor. if it were a maid, you wanted, you best find her juice. she wont be long for this earth. her ways are restless to the stars. death comes like longing. and so do you. you come to my arms like ecstasy. i don’t have it often, that i feel a thing anymore. i see the way my skin is clear and pale like yours. my older friend she said we are the same soul. i felt then, and that is when i barely knew you and so as then we were the same so two so more we grow and do. it was the way you made so much, i tried to try a bit more of you. so many ways i tried to say, when it was stuck in time, it was burning on a line in the pyre of the gods. so then my offerings of love they sorted out and then when money dripped down my sleeve like slime, then you might look at me, but look for thee, i want it all so much for thee. neverland, is coming soon, i see the way we’re at end of days. i see the way, its end of time, when humans are inconsiderate. with each other and because of you, i’m running to the purple edge of nothingness here on the heather and i feel frail and wonder why my cheeks are sunken in for love of you as i felt my arms wither under your grasp so i was small as her, or even smaller still, i grasp the nectar from your hand and beg for food. your song, it sits in my ears, like the end of bulimia, your song regurgitates, back to the universe my disgust and my fears, and the optimism, underneath it all, is only a fool called love. and love for you at two am, on the street where you stood like a portrait of
desire, a tiger, the man in pictures, there you were, as i had painted you, days before, when i felt your face clear in my mind, escaping grace. no other does, or will ever do, that which you do for me, ineffable things, as things have lately been so grey, in the oxygen tank of making, far from smogtown, where i’m waiting for a clue and a dime, and sticking my neck under every knife for you. my blasted will has no belief, so everything i do, i will fake for thee, you are all i believe, all i desire, all that i need, all i require, and even more, i love you best of all, before the fall. turtle dove electric shock before the fall you’re not scared of me at all. sometimes i feel the way your’e sleeping, when your mind is far away. and then its the songs of your making, i take before i drift the same. i saw your figure in this book, and what had oft transpired. you’d found a love and i could see the twinkle in your eyes. i won’t be getting you in trouble, i feel you all around. with fair warning, oh my love, i can’t but tumble down. i lose my sleep i lose my food, love for you i starve me true. your irish eyes, so gad about. a handsome dad had you. i saw your sister sweetly there, she was as you, beneficent, i wished her love like you. we are the same, so curious, i wished i’d bring the princess. she’d sweetly say the things i can’t and add a fair gardenia. so when the austere time of our making, comes to pass on the landscape of myth, there in the tower, i loved her, your sweetie, when you were longing for my hands. it wasn’t only that, became the way you gave me thanks. i threw my words off into the grave, i knew that you were sleeping. soft sweet it came your yearning for exstasis was the hue, a rash of fire tore o’er my breast, and words then sweetly flew. i’d read them gan a crying, remembering the days, you laid your fair hair in my lap, and
let me stroke your face. there isn’t a prettier one than you in the world, and so i’ll hold my tongue, for i was crying, crying then. i didn’t understand how goodly near you were to time, how simply stood you there, by the stone of our house, without a plucked guitar. your hands so apt to dangle, your chin so square and strong. the face and beard so beaming, it was you all along. the sound of dolphin music was a way to lure the sirens, singing in their own soprano tongue, and so you did, allure them. the younger ones were sweetly, not as i grey and old. they pertly know no meaning, for what i’ve understood. so oft has love beside me stood with his purple eyes. but you were fair since meeting, eternal ways not lies. upon a stage i saw you, aghast with all my doom. you were so fair, but ever did i feel your brotherhood. the first thing when i saw you, was so familiar did you seem, like my irish cousin eddie, or my brother, or the dream, the boy i loved in Dublin, fair, he failed to appear for years, but then you stood so calmly there, i’d waited eleven years. i felt fast how protected your innocence did seem. the kind of boy i look at, but only in my dreams. and once again i saw you, and asked of you your name. i told you that i liked your song, and grasped sound from your ear. it was antagonistic, that i smudged your face on mine. the paint rubbed off and when you were a-grinning lastly kissed. it was always last i’d kiss you, if ere i had the choice, for when i’d sleep i’d hold the dream, as sweet in mind as days. another time beside you, in the garden summer night, more tenderly i dug my hands into the furrows of your mind. talking as a machine mouth, a frightened by your presence, tolerate me that you did, and tolerate my kiss. you went oh back to your safety and found you there a speaking. none understood your words but i,
and so when you were sleeping. a greedy girl would have at you fast, but here’s what i was thinking. you are the best the last the first true love i might be drinking. so far you are in the dark cellar, the last wine to be savored. i know and you know it might not be. but that’s what i’ve been thinking. another time i called patience, a patience which is love. but so it feels so deep and calm, the way we’re understood. so pretty go the fair sweet girls, and that you take their ways. i’m calm and foolish, old and spent, i care not for the labor. so as i am the first or last, the empress of your mind, we are heiratet so to speak in eternities of time. the trivial material ways our bodies gad about, mean nothing more than cherries so sweet upon a tree. you look to me with ruddy cheeks and love so sweetly brimming, i say i say, my dearest boy, i agree with how we’re thinking. so true, so true, there is not another one as you. but if you send me out about, and tell me what to do. there is a one i certainly feel, that i could pretend was you. but truly at the end of days, your words will come through. i made myself a promise, and broke it just for you. would you have me back again, clambering for a clue. i heard the promise of your tones, the succor in your eyes. and no one says my name as you. it was for her and for me too. i love the way the way she loves you, and that is what we know. our freedom is so first and last, the completion of our love. you settle down inside me so foolishly, i was to wait so long. to take what was mine so often, in word, in comfort in time. so fierce i was, i feared, to prey upon your youth. so patiently i let you lay near my passive arms. but somewhere keen between us goes a way beyond a brother. you burn my chest alight with joy, my intellect, my eyes. so as i fight the physis, so well, i know it not at all. it
was because i found to love your soul, your mind, your face, your songs. so if at last i were to drink, of things i’m not permitted. it is as this i know i know, you’ve already undid me. so off i go to lonely sleep and wonder if you’re thinking, of my hands as you were two nights ago, your esteem has such meaning. as your hands scratch names in sand, and mine scratch in poems on your back, so let me drink to you my love, the best the best for last. the rhinestone from your ear i saw, a heathered spring so sunny. and every morn were glowing as a smoggy day in august. you see you see, i saw the way, the look dropped out your eyes. so vapid were they that you said, but what am i surmise? a voice a voice to wrap round yours, entwine it like a vine. it’s something pretty understood, the symmetry of vines. so then if we go softly to others just to pray, you were my dearest treasure once, and ever so i pray. i do not want another. there isn’t one like you. and when i visit years hence, i hope she lets me through. her hands her hands might hold you, so kindly in the night. but you know whose mind beholds you, in a different kind of light. my mind caresses every sweet touch of your kind dreaming. tenderly you soft absorbed the first images they were fleeting. you see you see my muse and chef, there is no other meaning, to this to this runaround life, but to be at your mercy. Tiffed and tired and exiled and permitted eyes and nature and a garden, the total kindness of your surmise. I cannot love you anymore in the delicate rainbow of her love. She is stunning. It is no longer you and I in the ivy corridor at twilight, sighing. Her grace has covered you in gold like a tinseltree, with your frosty beard, you were a tinman, prince of the hoarfrost, in brocade, in the sorry sleigh, last december.
Safely I could say, I love. As we begged you, buch dich, and you spoke of fruit and lost loves and trines. It was suddenly in the hand on my left hip, or the lips on your jugular, my head pressed into the piano as if your hands mught lobotomize me with music. I could say, could say, any such thing. But under the cruel breath of morning exodus, I tried again to explain my love, and it was sickness. Many mornings of my love, hideous in the day, like shakespeare in the oil, like roses baked on the burning earth. Head out deep into the crush of petrol and metal on olympic, I awoke to your sweet early call, mind on fire. Sickened in the deafening rain, shaking on the plane. There is no money anywhere. All the values went flat. In the dictatorship of my eyes, I declared new values, and the value was you. Under my hands your soft form and your merciful beauty took to sleep like a flower, it was near you I must become silent, exhaling three decades poison, all the voluntary and involuntary poisons. I ripped the cigarette from your lips, the taxi is waiting. Stop it, we are family. Big ideas, all the time. My fingers are ripped and tired by the labor and the liar's trial. You asked of your engineer, and I explained he is someone else's slave, we cannot afford. He needs a nice life too, with lovely space and joy, tenderness. My stomach opens up like a grand canyon in your love, hungry in the pain of . . .in the asceticism of constant denial, constant starvation. At the piano, gershwin, cage and glass slithered around us, rachmaninoff spoke in tomes.
It wasn't such a morning without you, essential, essential prefect in the pantheon the man in the pink suit was doing what he could---everything was peachy in the land of venus, and the brocade boys wore moods like green apples, a prince in snow, the new brook returns to stem alethia. impossible. hearing you, i was not alone, astute, under the canopy of arson, with the willing crowd, and the lost fires. it was perhaps of the last footage, the night it burnt down named as it was so named.
silently father languished in the hollow skull of his buddhahood. so much whirlwind keeping him
there is something wrong with this invective, the inferior putty of the wordsmiths, hammering languages out like lies, to describe the infinite silence of joy, forgive me, hyacinth, your diamond eyes tickling my breast and catching those eyes again and the yes in my eyes yes tantra speak to him. i crumble. your whiskers at my ear. shuddering. you take hold again. speak to him you say, laughing at the effect. anything you say. and petal. one word, to me, all words. my mouth on your shoulder. the kisses, on stairways, at the door, day and night, exstasis, and for her too. i swallow my hunger in the mantra polyamour. your sleeping body brushing me and the rush in my mind. and you twitch, jolted by the electric shock you give me, and which i send back to you. perfect ways words work between minds. i am never misunderstood, with and by you. on the balcony your luxurious thighs splayed and my hands on your shoulder. your bright
eyes lighting up to meet mine. your head in my lap, your hair, your kindness to me. did she open your heart to the physis? where did she go? why do you now have time for me when i have wanted this so long? the slow ecstasy of denial, when i could devour you in one bite. and the recharge into song and your impeccable intellect, hammering at the surrealist manifesto, choreographies of wires and beats. palpably we are by wires united, magnetisms so fine they clamp me to you like glue. i pull you off and feel the poetry of your words through ether, and your work, and mine. my body is the whale that ate you. i renounce the broken affairs, the trinity knot killed by finality. you give me more pleasure, more delicate pleasure than has any man ever. and that with your mind, words, and song, and you barely even in my arms, but two glorious mornings ago, singing of the present tense, the tense in which you bloom in my heart now and then. in you, i’m lost. i feel you inside me more present than the real, your presence exploding my mind to toes. lover, a rose. if i laid years at your feet, or dollars, or poems, books, drawings, tea, or song, soup, chocolate, names, and a clatter of gorgeous information, do you know you could blithely run with the nearest she, and never i care, you are my soul’s delight and your freedom my eros explosive. i do not want to share you i say, but i found her. someone to pick you, heal you. she knows you now. i cannot more again go with them. you are the only i love. though i try to give you up. this is what real love is like you said. no one has ever shown me such love. physis is of no consequence, my body is alight in your hum. i am waiting at the corridor of the fire escape by the full scorpion moon by starlight, with your skin on my hands. panting. i will be your vestal virgin, your siren. now i pledge myself to you across
time, in the night sky, against suicide, and the burning earth and the smog of the alexandria, my freedom adonai eloi eloi anni rouza tois tois tois sans pareil allein dich toi est tout, mon coeur, mon ami, c’est fini, i’m yours. i, like an oil blackened bird, you are my coast. and were i not as you require, i will sit by, preening my mind, exploding with love like a narcissus bouquet, my heart a lotus for you. no fullness more of love take me in the quiet nights miles and hours for you my poem, pyre. i will learn dulcimer over years and sing of this, dance for you, drink for you, nourriture for you, every breath the taste of your ghost, your health, your bliss. underworlds. persephone, and pomegranate, and how you say my name. you are flowing out of me, a brook, i give birth towards the optimism of your preternatural song, poem, petal, you with diamond eyes brightly at the crystals of a broken rosary, on my thighs a first time, i felt your eyes on me, i was shrouded waiting for the marriage of our minds. now my bodice burst for you and the nectar of your breast silent under my cat’s claws, kneading you like a mother. you said, what if, we could separate ourselves from our sexuality. yes vixen, andros, gyno, lover, ever, beginning, end. deep in the heart of my apathy, you look out with snowman eyes of coal, out the frosty window, my heart deep in the bureau drawer where you graced out trinkets fantasies. les enfants terribles. une boule de neige, flawlessly kinder, bruder, that i have conquered the fears this intimacy has given. i am not brunhilde, you are not my brother, but my soul same family, the ghost of my father, reincarnation, dali lama. i would not ask from you a thing. i wanted to appear with soot-black legs in an architecture of desire laced in pain, burberry, and sit flatly inhaling the black coffee, sick with prada zomby, and the end of days where i ate your
eternity and birthed this new me, a child before you, your flower. you are my friend. your existence beats through me like blood. you are the hunger of my acid teeth. i will dance on pointe for thee and hold you in the air. pour blood on the floor. the intelligence of the flesh which knows, loves, or rejects, the intelligence which waits and waits, malingering in an oak cask, shrouded in a grey voile. you master of tantra, un coeur en hiver. countess olenska, carnal rose, iris, exploding at the counter, slain unto your grace, your name, eternity, in stone, in darkness. your red toes, and dandy black, decadent perfection, doll, sitting perfectly in my mind. i peel the linen from your breast and begin. not tired by waiting i am here for you forever in this economy of desire. Your eyes made me sacred in the quiet of the night, in a goodbye, not a goodbye. Like your lips on the train, my prince, my liege, In the corridor of the manor with thee. Remains of remains and what remains of the love I deftly squelched. I am for thee and want for naught in the perfect tower of thought. You said she is like a tree. sylph. On the ice my prince dancing Orlando, or tout les matin du monde, sickly sweet as cello or myrrh. On your forehead sandal, a burial for serge, I am your charlotte, and you the only ghost. Vernacular, in the liffey, I saw you there, knew you, you were fifteen. My virgin books weighed me to my bed like chains and sleeping pills, hungry for the years it took to you. Your ancestors called me to Stephen's Green, to sit at St. Francis ecstasy, el greco eating apples. Deep in the green, I saw you not, where you were then there, bayless, innocent, now saturn returns. Deep in the heavy book, I found your name, coup de grace thickly omnicient, were you allah divine existing human, with human hands like sacred claws, I would adorn my corporeal self with you, were I
courageous enough to try as Jean d'Arc and Artaud walk me out to Care of Self, and you covered me in gold. Liquidly, I try nothing, desire nothing, but let you know, in poems of the first Pluto when knew I my love, and sat beside your serious ways. You said on the way to the metal fortress, it is nice while it lasts, and gave me a future kiss. And en balcon, you said, come back richness. Which was to me like a ridiculous promise, of years. As we sell ourselves to moments, to everything, to survive, I hold you brother on this side of the concentration camp and cannot embrace you long enough or write enough gold around your name, icons and Klimt, goddesses, adorning your infinite surmise, to delight your mind as soul nourriture. When I brought you ladies, was it you think, the way that we are wrong? Or right? The way we are organized. I sit carefully on a certain shelf and you yours, barrack doll. But as you make me, make me, over and again near ill with my desire, expanded by our telepathos, telekinetic, lover, touch me or do not. Touch them or do not. My existence is your face, your hands, your voice, your song, the silence of your ended years, your grave, your ash, I am blue and sick but for you. Daisy, lover, your love is a symphony, slow and bizarre, written on crumbling sheets, dying in empty beats, drunk on denial. It was rejection you thought you loved, and so with I. Or denial. Are you ready to realize, we are home, you are my own, and we are now free to heal the world, confident in the eternity of bliss and our open arms and open minds devoured by the fairies my fey. They nibble our toes. You were walter raleigh and I your queen. None knew what we mean, to
each. But there in the perfect marriage of our minds the eros of thought executes secrets, I would barely ask of you. And if you take them to your lips as water or as wine, allein I am thine, and in your eyes I see, the lovers like grapes which cling to you as a vine, are nothing to the flower muscat of our verses, prone in the death gaze of the life you renewed. Enter then into my mind then as a hunger, confident, confused. The blue hyacinths sit sweetly longing for your lashes near the green roof and wailing wall and fountain, bursting by the greenhouse, this is the home I make for you. A little place where I might heal and ponder what transpired in the giddy rush off the grey cliff into the infinite blackness of ozone and carbon monoxide. I will not pretend you are mine or not mine, that we are us or them, that my face has a name, or yours, particular, infinite, universal. In the crisp knowledge of your particular song, like the oil drum in the jungle, my favorite brother, you are the song in my mind at the end of days, the marble in the temple, you are the cold floor in the prison where I lay down. If you would come sweetly one day, I will wait on the edge of years, clinging to fables like movies, and the tender ways each perfect glance of you, meant more to me than anything in the world. And I would give you everything, everything, and die with you on the plane over the atlantic. Or hold you onstage in my mind when you are grey and fine and spry and handsome, more likely this, our long lives, and long happiness, with your kindness so pure om nami narayani. And the children like birds at the sack of crumbs, feeding them art like discards, issuing as much or more, love as they require, to heal us all. DANDY LAD
i’m pinning purple pansies and violets on your breast and gold on your lapel you need not worry ever more there is everything you need of Air and Love and Thought’s Acclaim it all is there for you and safety, comfort, you may begin to live again in love blooming eloquent your songs the wealth of days your every wish i give to you and most important this health and long life
and Love and Glory’s fine Baroque display Ornate as gold and Towering Cakes and Wigs starched and high -------your love may now lay you down and melancholy die. rest sweet as a lamb on soft
gold hay, a poet on a cloud No fear yet enter into your mind to see what you might say my love my prince of eloquence this will be your day, and world, and life, and nothing will you want for evermore
In the happy clean blue sky of petals, blossoms taking you in flutters of their joy
Falling upon you like rain and you, their perfect boy No words will suit you up in grey so well as words like these your name sprite sylph of brook and tree Take soft this golden love for you and throw it in the stream where cooly it will wait for you
if you care to drink the angel bouquet of our verse the golden dew so warm and sweet my dove angel decadence utopia dream
victorian subtlties repressions buttoned up in black in garrets and starched white corridors where walked your ghost and the carnival of sound surmise the vase where lay flowers limply after your name and your voice sickly sweet on other ears
and the slow sun in the dusty afternoon in Dublin uncertain and damp polyester dearest! you are green you are free, eternal aged! you are everything the water that’s taking me! i’m drowning in your grace there is no end to this love for you i have found my death and what to do worship you
taste your sweat in the attic inebriate my mind on the sweet scent of your hair caress your perfect hands respond my love could dwell in your perfect form or the whiskers on your face but my love is as deep as the grave that takes you down
or deeper than the sea my love is blind deaf and dumb my love is ecstasy where e’re you go i do not know if my toes are quick to keep company with thee, or hold you in your sleep the silent way i feel you now consumes me through and through i am your sister and a maid were i your lover too, i happily have a taste of flesh; the you that i desire. but i will sit at end of days pining and on fire
your slow courtesy and surmise is what soft does me in and the white hot jolt of electric heat i feel from thee, just thee. no other knows me as you do, and no other loves me well. you are the scent of love the silent funeral bell. you are the stone upon my grave you are my only ring. you are the tears streaming down my face
my paper and my pen my every waking thought morning and my even lest the force of my blooming love begin to terrify take this word unto your wise and hear this soft reply go sweetly dear and worry not my love is strong and long. be free and flippant fancy fair
And when you’d like to give unto me your self and your disease i humbly wait for perfect love there is nothing else for me.
Calligraphies of bones
No words dare deface you your arms around my empty hips this time more truth under the death smog the earth is over waking up in hiroshima again this time with you, little different except the happiness I feel the crisp beauty of your sleeping face I said you only need one love, meaning, I only need you, you are all my heart can stand you are everything inside my heart you perfume the night I want softly this not to be an end. To be for you forever. And that we speak, when no words rip from me my dengue.
And there in the heart of your silence you always bring me up. Our book born in my mind like a child. The silence of your ways. I slept with you at seventeen. I slept with you at eight. I felt the fullness of your kind smile linger over me. What you give and what you do not cannot supercede. I never tried to take you I never was so blind to walk too fast into your light the others were too fast, each year will be flirtation, confection, or a noose. So slowly, I will love you and speak to you in prose. And if in years i'd have you, or if in three you me, I will not hope to bargain for things that make me weep. Beside me last eve ever, was more than ere I need, to walk at noon beside you, and give you leave. II. let out of prison to the heart of your love your love is honest this I have known you make no promise of things we don't know your love is honest the heart of your love is finally beside me time was hiroshima aftermath I was waking in hiroshima without you for years now I am out of prison to the heart of your love a love which is honest which doesn't ask much my love is foolish in fits and starts my love is sleeping in the sepulchre of hearts my love awakened to say goodbye out of prison to say goodbye your love is honest I do not know why you ask for nothing and then I reply your love is honest so patient and kind your love is honest silent and kind your love is honest goodbye, goodbye III
awash in your golden orb scorpion I cannot say propaganda master for fools gold your eyes on the ocean in time the thames washes in the blood of Kipling's rue I crafted your name into this verse but wrote not what you are In the silence of sleep and time you teach me melody contingent on life and breath when all was question mark pushed to the point of silence and cured by melody I wish you could have known my mother's name for me hungrily I devour these seconds here with you terrified at the expanse of time when your face will be far from my eyes in this my memory feels you as in absense I held your ghost invited through the window as incubi or host angelic priest of sound you are to me ever pure and the terrors of my carnal silence know no cure I want to hold you and I do not, as this exquisite pain to me delivers me to ecstasy where now I live with thee and here floating silently through memory and time you muse are master of then and now, the future and the end if only I could wrap my bones around yours when I die all this wanting and denial would quickly realize itself into calligraphies of bones our bodies do now make and in death stillness might make the shape of love eternal.
words like prayers were then, sitting beside you on trains. your corpse lingered longer than mine did.
but the words sit by just the same. they are not brave or foolish words. they are gold and true. though distance and geld separate us
you are my third eye, in my mind separate from the rest i like you the best it was said.
so true so true, and follies delight me up from the cavern where i lay. and let this fatigue shutter off me in twilight, and wait for years or days.
a writing machine it was that forgot the ways to say your name. in pop melody or vintage neon.
there is nothing i can say to thee. nothing and all is ever for thee, and your face at last in mind.
sent to me in time to carry me through till the minutes when i lay my heart in heaps for you. it wasn’t ribbons at your feet, or art, but sentiment. the things i feel, fingerless, blind uncrafty things.
if all my limbs were ripped from me, and sat i in the chair. it would be of thee i think and the love i once felt there.
it is not foolish to surmise you live life. it is as i will will it now, though others have your time. accept heartily your request, it was not me you’d seek, but something there across the sea symphonies of peace. and so in this emptiness you give my empty eternal love
sits of stone and swept by time, unwavering in the wind. and what you tell me i listen hard, to words i cannot hear. you are the only who understands, and all that is dear.
so crystal clear your voice echoes in mind have i told you of a song i felt for in halves it went like this and that.
all i have to give is my time and my love and the heavens above the heavens above
all i have to give to you are years and my lies my lies my lies
what you want from me is nothing i guess and then i confess i’m satisfied. i satisfied with nothing or less as less was more than their all. your time and your love were true, and then i realized, i was running away from the sunrise of my naissance. darkness simmers me down and helps me forget how i love you, how i do.
the freedom we share is the prettiest part, not your pretty hands, or your pretty heart. the freedom i see so keen in your mind elaborate things you’ve designed.
simple and best, that is what you are, bizarre and best.
could you come down from the clouds i’d figure you out i don’t like to shout at clouds.
i sit drinking tea, and hope for things i’d never want in my right mind. will you forgive, the lovers that float from the sky like dizzy petals. will you know you are origin and end of the renaissance of my heart?
in you i am reborn, in you i die, in you i struggle for a crumb, in you i respire. your heavy hand held me down to earth, when, i’d fall off, fall off. i’ll catch you tomorrow in a puff of smoke, and listen to the lines of your making. you are important to me and i will never forget
ecstasies only you unravel
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