Song of 81 Poems, XII

I saw you in full color,
     playing, in reckless affairs,
     emotionally sexed.
Your were hiding her childhood,
     using lust to hold fast
      to surreal harmony,

That affected our faith, yet appeared free.
Precious progress, moments manipulated,
     afraid of seeing down,
     aware, of no "I".

Be in awe, we withstand the break.
What howl serves a young face,
     His bad aesthetic competitions.
     might further fool us as a joke?

Don't fire. Why not?
     A new young street balances life.
Many traders at an entry blue get it, 

      present  metaphoric diversity,
Kiss water, and give that sharp shin
       a fear of cooking.

Be tearful, and be all
Come fill my wild dates.
     praise only symbol,
     and Mother Dust.

Song of 81 Poems:

  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 38 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Song of 81 Poems, XI

Patience and trouble were never late.
    The husband played mouthing his howls,
    As we wreck patience.

Lady Rainbow, my astral absurd paragon,
     my dirty little sleep Mama took it or what?
She's amused around some insane droll drizzle.
    Sounds ok,

Wildly, your father would capture surface.
    I have him fast, a problem in time

    they saw up front.

Doctor Sanity chose deep laughter.
   Insanity buys our trust.

   You were observed babbling.

Let thought act cunning to sculpt him blind.
Mom, told us, stop the night sky.

    My perfect sister, came on to see it.

Orphan my opaque soft instrument,
      impressions of an important mission.
Seaweed creeps into sculptures and green water.
   Such will lick out opinion.
Be young. take good luck.
     My madness is performed fast and dry.

Wryly, I crept through the white streets,
     used my dormant shadow

     to know I'm here,

Song of 81 Poems:

  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 38 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Song of 81 Poems, X

Through our angry sense, cute Father,
   Get back to the woods,
      Fit a sedulous Delphic husband around her.

One day, behind my passive body,
   you'll run and believe it's gone,
      The self's around some canvas child.

Sleep, handle him,
   Understand why I live, or think, or choose.
      Make kids.

I would get his number, for watching,
   if it is a missive done of black.
      Questions are under way,

         through harmony, that canvas.

See the obsessive killer dance, 

     neurotic, in our arms he crept.

If our son sinks in ritual depression.
    I'll scream to my Mom, 

    without anger about art.

Grip on.

Song of 81 Poems:

  1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 38 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

The Gypsy U

From the vast midwest,

Came one thought I loved best,

Without explanation, without occasion,

Sent a U . . . through postal invasion.

All was said and done, and lost

Though I tried, I got tossed!

In what way was this too true.

Was Y  the reason our love fell through?

Names? Just three,

All gave me a U, one sent a Z.

Of the other two, one gave a Y,

The last, a B, remade my life,

The second U came from old Japan.

Shall I mention she gave a Z, then ran?

We prowled New York, just her and me,

Who is she . . .  I'll not tell U !

We searched Kyoto through, ate fine sushi.

Her letters read - 'Dōmo arigatō! Oishii!'

Then she fled, not to Tokyo,

But to Italy, . . . to Milan-o.

Two letters later, U and B,

Given by my Kabbalah lady.

I met her in Brooklyn years ago,

Her husband then was awfully shady.

They lived in a Jersey city, though.

23 equals U plus B,

What's this got to do with me?

Or for a girl from a forest town -

It's true you've grown. your age was 23,

I've since drunk your letters, drank them down.

I gave an Aleph, made my ageless bed,

The trouble and strife got previously wed.

Oxen gifts, a bear for boons,

Interpretations, made anew.

U-Boat 23, about 1917,

Sank 52 ships, herself went down.

UB's a postal code, of old London,

Southall, Ealing, and Hillingdon.

Biscuits, breweries, universities,

Belgrade and Basrah drink Burgundy.

Could UB stand for Mongolia?

Ulan Battor in Asia? Maybe?

I read your letters every day,

You'll return to me, don't say no, 

Say someday!

Belgrade?, . . . . through Serbia flows the Ub

Gosh my gypsy's got wandering curls.

With Roma eyes bright, not fair,

So have gone, to play guitar.

Know I'll love her from time afar,

The question's not when, but where.

NAMA - Marsyas 2007