Archive for July, 1992

La Cascada

Posted: July 24, 1992 in Poetry
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Water falls as the hair and voices
Of nymphs at La Cascada.

Removing my shirt and glasses,
I place my eyes and nose
Through the surface of the pool
To be bathed by hands of water,

Falls like silver tinsel
Or ribbons of moonshine
And moss-maiden hair
Perpetually combed
By the white fingers of
La Cascada.

Her touch upon troubled features
Is like a lover smoothing covers,
Leaving pearls upon your eyelashes
for the morning.

A Hole in the Sky

Posted: July 24, 1992 in Poetry
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I thought I saw a star fall
In Sherwood Forest.
I wonder what it means
About our world.

I swear I saw a flame walk
Through this grove of trees,
Stepping from curl to curl
Of the bark on the forest floor.

I cannot grasp what my mind
Is saying; not yet,
Speaking from the corners of my eyes,
Running past my nose
At odd times, odd scents, odd sounds.

Sometimes I feel that
I’m surreptitiously burying
My heart again
In the middle of the night,
Something someone is whispering
For me to do.

Lying awake as I imagine the fall
Of gravedigger dirt
Cascading in sodden clumps
Upon my wooden soul.

The light wanes as I write,
Listening to the stereo of birdcalls
Scratching at wood,
And the organs of crickets
Calling and calling
The stars to the night’s work,
All except one.

I am the most beautiful man
on this road,
my bottle of red wine
wetting my lips
through the lizard-trod dust.
My spit places octopi
in the tiny gravel
splayed like fingers
or clouds.

Sometimes I weave back
and forth between the ruts
in the road,
carrying my bottle of red wine
before me like a crucifix,
amazed at the hundreds of lizards.

La Cascada sings to me
with the beauty of
a lost flute,
with the conversation
of it’s motherly water falling;
with its brood of half-made tadpoles.
I bless her with a mouthful
of my crimson wine,
baptizing each new frog,
each new dragonfly
wriggling in half-formed majesty.

I am the most beautiful man
on this road,
waking to wine and muscle,
surprised from the deadening
of young-adulthood.
I am the most beautiful King of Fate,
the Prince of La Cascada,
the Champion of Frogs and
the fool of red wine.

Untitled Poem #132

Posted: July 21, 1992 in Poetry
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I would write you a poem
with a paintbrush
to show you how soft
your eyes are
right before they twinkle.

At The Sink, After Shaving

Posted: July 21, 1992 in Poetry
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as a lathered face,
I cannot tap my razor
in my soapy water anymore,
since you have written
that poem of bristly hair
that mentions me.

Flyer

Posted: July 20, 1992 in Poetry
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I write a poem
which I distribute
on flyers, smiling
to many other people
and hopefully,
you will blush fiercely
when you read it
because it is about you.

Dream Girl

Posted: July 20, 1992 in Poetry
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I SAW YOU [believe]
run pitter-patter run
hide away, waterfall or
column of flame;
run along dream girl.
I caught you this time
(in the echo of your flowered footprints)