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The Love Poems
a love poem xxvi (to j.a.) the poem is not sad because it wants to be yrs & cannot; a love poem xxv (to r.f. & w.c.w.) something there is that doesn't love a wall traveling together always makes us step closer a love poem xxiv this is a poem— a love poem xxiii you're always just dicking around no matter where she goes she wants to feel a love poem xxii: dusty i love Yesterday already when a love poem XXI some words next, nights we hated each other. God it's wonderful God, get out of here! wait: a love poem XX In this lonely city i've been powerful wearing out another skin, other eyes. somehow i ended up with one man, calm as the .45 on his hip in that atmosphere of the parisian apartment building, the twin menaces of the concierge on the ground floor and the landlord upstairs, we sprawled out flat to nap across the carpet. he lay on me for a minute. i felt only his breathing. maybe i should have faked my orgasm but i didn't want to lose him right away; i just wanted him to take me home to rest... how in love stored wishes emerge with that rustic smell of perpetual anesthesia and tenderness, almost insupportable— as he whispered Unregrettable as Unmentionable i suffered from the excess of taste that spells blush or must i pretend i am so much braver than femininity, i can't allow anyone to rub off on me— god forbid they rub off onto me, this skin. i woke up stupored under a street lamp of parisian illumination across the deafening streets i imagined my eyes in the obscurity finding your eyes’ center now coffee settles in the pot. i can’t drink it without you, the efforts of old movements you dream, and dreams die: Listen: that’s the static blooming between us: my romance (a love poem XVIV) drinking always takes my mind off you such subtleties frightened of my own insecure thoughts can we get closer? because i know you wonder a love poem XVIII how can i believe what you say when you lie to me while reading the story in bed thinking i’ll know no better? when i sing a song all out of tune and you say i have a lovely singing voice? or when i whisper a short lecture on french poetics and you dim the lights? when my eyes don’t lose you in the dark—i just don’t care to search and find your face? Deific II (a love poem XVII) suddenly every now and then inspired by Sandy Underpants @ http://blogs.salon.com/0001424/categories/steveRaker/ le désespéré (a love poem XVI) "i remember when you had a boyfriend. some days she thinks of him and some days she just lips looking askance "You can't convince me"/his favorite toy— And I just watch you slipping further down— a love poem XV I am never less at home
a love poem XIV
Tell me, Socrates, Where lies the romance in a heap of stones? And would you die a truth-teller still? Time grows tired of Travos in love; The eagle’s eye stirs under the sun. The sea’s pant billows in the back of my mouth The words rise, crash up through my throat— loom over the land’s warped layers of war, blood-soaked hills heaving their last breath, then tide on my tongue, fizzling out— Emptied as a hallowed grave In the lonely city where Death sat here tomorrow. j’adore le metropolis— its great Medusa face emerges from its hiding place in hallowed out thought between stones and rocks where these Moments mix with memories And the relation finds itself Stuck in death stirring under the sun. Such a connection An inversed projection And we see the same things Looking forward and back again in limbo like a Janus head Or I’m at the top and You’re at the bottom of Nerves&breathnerves&breath Sexy & horrible. A real roulette gamble. A real craps win, lucky seven. Some sense of summer have I been seeking…
a love poem XIII [this is just between you and I]
Um. would you like to kiss now? I mean you&me Silly. ____ I ____ for you what you ____ ____ me? ? ? a love poem XII
You do know me. You’ve
met me here before— Your eyes burning on the back of my blank mind …i know You’ve thumbed through me… Your tongue, unlappable; its curling rhythm the undercurrent of silence in the passageway i’m trying to love; my unyielding laminar surface re-breaking and re-breaking Your heart You need a glassful of bleached words and nerves that hum through all the fingers of your one hand wired under control of the other to give-up those poems without devotion— a love poem XI
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain—
out of love I strolled down heart’s old lane to hear how sighing words are spoken: ‘what impulse prodded her to turn toward him?’— Then the small smooth animal of your lips stroked mine & spiraled & spiraled while we watched the sun-rise, by a movement you named illusion and what I loved is the horses’ hooves pounding my heart, the scramble on the bed of our bodies like tin stars hanging on heaven’s contour beating ablaze (then falling one by one): well in July, in July, I fell along the way of a lie— And I knew what not he would fathom In an hour of remorse and sighs— Now what shall I do? Why, dash cold water on my face and spoil the page with rhymes— For the fall does not stop—the story is still true— yet so much well worn of time. Deific (a love poem X)
suddenly every now and then
we’re talking and you say something so sweet so sweet and then sometimes, we’re talking and you sound so much the total idiot asshole, I want to say it but then I envisage you grinning at me: irrepressible as breath a love poem IX (the fifth he inspired)
the death of a soldier is like a natural thing—
as the season of autumn or spring, as a transitional fling: the gentian weaves her fringes, the maple's loom is red. a cigar stuck in the hole of his lips, he smirked tilted his head, he said Hello Mister Death. and Mister Death grinned, hallo soldat. unhusk my heart of fright, for the whip-or-will shall break him tonight who yields that patience that is armour and that shields love from despair— when love forsees the end— Leaf after autumnal leaf break off, descend— descend— for where the winds blow, the clouds go in their direction. and when the winds and, over the heavens, the clouds go, nevertheless, in their direction. A Score (a love poem VIII: the fourth he inspired & a response to Amy Lowell's ''A Decade'')
We
Slumber in the dusky dawn that divides us Breathe in the spaces of sleepy eyed lusty morning dew And Curled eyelashes that touch together tumultuously; I want you to know you Tasted like warm smooth bread at sunrise then— Love at the lips was touch as Taste as fresh pinot and red licorice now tangible as I feel. a love poem VII (the third he inspired)
There is a cool and composed gentleman living on the banks of
my heart’s roaring waves—and when the stream of my love breaks out as a torrent, his house of sensibility and flower beds of calm should be devastated did he not dam the threatening danger to meet me there, halfway, every time. a love poem VI (the second he inspired)
i love him
and it sustains, because, we are as two peas in their pods are alike. a love poem V
every evening echoes echoed
lights lit lightly Summer was stirring—now it moves in a hurry— December’s descending and Poets perspire, even on a winter’s day. There is the melody floating the air over And over And over And over like the impasse of our metro emotion when that day we were like one Now London’s undone Several knights in the Sity we sat in the calfé/or we slept in Hide parq. we walked kween anne’s walk. we talked the pawsh talk. and illusion affected our effected allusion or perception and impression blended together; i’d always guessed here we’d run into each other To make an affair of ourselves Like my long black strapless gown Sweeping dirty sidewalks of l'Opera Maison where the melody floats the air over and over and over like the Recitation of black skylines Startling catastrophe OhyesDarling I will stretch You beyond reliability Through our sleepwalks and spasms and brutal sedation it goes: ambergris, ambergris inlaid of deciduous things (petals on a wet, black bough) black bird, black bird I know what truth is for: Your heart, buried in a groove of old faults… Now steel the thought: maybe minutes pass as months in a while, but you will not be abased for only am I like the hum’s lull.
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