corridors and shadows (wildean days)

8/8/2019 corridors and shadows (wildean days)

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corridors and shadows

(wildean days)

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


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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,


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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


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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


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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 theverdant 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 figurethat 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, thats

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 youre on.

you didnt know, youd come so far and stay so high so long. but youve 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


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now youre 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 grandmothers highshelf and old spoons, or fathers 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 naughtbecause it matters most of all that you are caught in between the love i

made for you at your grave ill 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 thats hiddens not with you and if pretty people cling to

you im 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. well go back now in time.

youre quite more lovely than before. i knew age would suit you well and

youd 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 wont require a symphony or a cargo plane. money doesnt make


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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 im 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


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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 didnt 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,

id 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,


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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 dont 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

were at end of days. i see the way, its end of time, when humans are

inconsiderate. with each other and because of you, im 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


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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 im 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 youre not scared of me at all.

sometimes i feel the way youre 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. youd found a love and i

could see the twinkle in your eyes. i wont be getting you in trouble, i feel

you all around. with fair warning, oh my love, i cant 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 id bring the princess. shed sweetly say the things i cant

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 wasnt 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 oer my breast, and words then sweetly flew. id read them

gan a crying, remembering the days, you laid your fair hair in my lap, and


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let me stroke your face. there isnt a prettier one than you in the world, and

so ill hold my tongue, for i was crying, crying then. i didnt 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 ive

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, id 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 id kiss you, if ere i had the choice, for when id sleep id

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,


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and so when you were sleeping. a greedy girl would have at you fast, but

heres 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 thats what ive been

thinking. another time i called patience, a patience which is love. but so it

feels so deep and calm, the way were understood. so pretty go the fair

sweet girls, and that you take their ways. im 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 were 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


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was because i found to love your soul, your mind, your face, your songs. so

if at last i were to drink, of things im not permitted. it is as this i know i

know, youve already undid me. so off i go to lonely sleep and wonder if

youre 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. its 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 isnt 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.


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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.


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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


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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, im 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 souls 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


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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, cest fini, im 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 cats 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


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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


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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


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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


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im pinning purple pansiesand violets on your breast

and gold on your lapel

you need not worry ever morethere is everything you need

of Air and Love and Thoughts Acclaim

it all is there for you

and safety, comfort,

you may begin to live again

in love blooming eloquentyour songs the wealth of days

your every wish i give to you

and most important this

health and long life

and Love and Glorys

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


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gold hay, a poet on a cloudNo fear yet enter into your mind

to see what you might say

my love my prince of eloquencethis will be your day, and world,

and life, and nothing will

you want for evermore

In the happy clean blue sky

of petals, blossomstaking 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


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if you care to drink

the angel bouquet of our

verse the golden dewso 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


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and the slow sunin the dusty afternoon

in Dublin

uncertain and damppolyester

dearest! you are green

you are free, eternal

aged! you are everything

the water thats taking me!

im drowning in your gracethere 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


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or deeper than the seamy love is blind deaf and dumb

my love is ecstasy

where ere you go i do not knowif 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, ihappily 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


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my paper and my penmy every waking thought

morning and my even

lest the force of my bloominglove 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 youd 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.


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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


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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.


29/32

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.


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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 wasnt 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 youd 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.


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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 liesmy lies

what you want from me is nothing i guess and then i confess

im 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 youve designed.

simple and best, that is what you are, bizarre and best.


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could you come down from the clouds id figure you out

i dont like to shout at clouds.

i sit drinking tea, and hope for things

id 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, id fall off, fall off.

ill 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

corridors and shadows (wildean days)

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