Like the Quiet Pinch of Ovaries


65

At the cutting edge of the recurring now/
It must have been a trick of time
That brought us together, stop-motion universe

Laughter in reverse, some lapse /
Of concentration and epiphany of choice
A direction so mutually unassuming

It seemed natural, like retreating /
From a downpour, or taking a break
When we truly didn’t require one –

Something must have told me, nudged me/
As if a long afternoon, with broken continuity
The future is a lapse, where our heart

Falls, the flower petal we step over/
Without noticing, the riot of the unseen
Hands of change, ahhh! That’s enough

To make one happy, The birds feel it/
The seagulls abandon everything for it –
I’ve felt it a few times, maybe less than some

The human torch of the flame moving on/
The floor of a melted life, turning forty
Honey, news and loneliness

Where did my life go – with what force of memory/
To which latitude and why, these are things
That require constant negotiation, careful

Acceptance, at the end of days/
I stacked in a corner all the things I could let go.

Good Night to the Ideal of Marriage


24

I took a blessing for the flowers
Tightening around me in the night
Like precious fertile years
Lost, to my individuality
Jealous with knots of
Passionate self-interest

Like dust under
An unused wedding gown
Then I followed the day
That turned into lonely decades
The terror of being unable to build building-blocks
Of love, of family, of normalcy

I heard stories that turned into theory
At weddings, of people who never made it
Girls sailing over the blooms of my mouth
I was getting old for watching them
With a hungry face, or a heavy heart
In the end I had disdain for the fragments

Of small affections I accumulated
The cynicism spilled while watching friends
Busy in their nesting frenzies
I took a blessing for the flowers
As you harvested the beauty of your worth
Light and splendor, like sleeping orchids

Woke up in you, when you became a mother
But I wasn’t to be your husband
Nor would I be invited to the holy procession
Of your vault of the power of the bonds that do not die

Long live the unknown machine
Of heart, that I was unable to grow
Into finely meshed lives of stable prosperity.

So You Will Not Have to be Always Letting me In and Out


53

Today, there are no consolations
All I have been is as a dream
Nobody remembers, nor can I say do I
Remember closeness, I am learning to support myself
As foundations that require convincing proof

That this is no ordinary friendship
The way I am with myself, how I attend the banquet
Of my thoughts, life – what drink I pass around the table
Of so much longing, an expert at grief
Today, there is no consolation

I have congregated here to face, what I already suspect
That I have not the backbone, for love
I can deliver you form yourself in this moment
Says my mouth burning for sweetness
Today, there are no consolations

I must understand what it means to be wounded
Hands of my hands, everything is made of water
There is nothing drastic left, that can be done
I can no longer be the ring-knocker at your door.

Battered by Words of Sad Gold


24

Often, as I awake in my room
I am the first person holding a candle
To myself, the one that murmurs
In his dreams, weeping

These are the days, I wake up to
Empty fountains, ringing bells
For a world that falters
Nearly as much as I do

My lips taste timid metals
My mouth raw with hunger
To enter the capital of the opposite of indifference
I am sick with solitude

My eyes are lost to the nights
I end up staying home, too late alone
I see another solemn evening pass
There goes my life, it weighs upon me

I am the first and last person, I talk to
Each day, the mouth that cries
No water from these eyes at noon
When the world expects my strength

Summer sheds her petals in soft agonies
It’s only in Spring, I stare and stand before
The large white house, and ponder
The clarity of extinguished things

Like memory, like the angels of the soul
Beneath the slow martyrdom of strain
I spread my heart thin in massive words
Letters, poems, that don’t amount to much.

Towards a Naked Soul


I collected self-pity

Distilled from common heart-breaks

The Narcissus reminder

 

That we transmit pain

With cowardly eyes

Believe me it’s not

 

Anything but my stupidity

The poetical potential to learn how to hate

From foundations of so much love

 

I collected melancholy

Like a common child of love

My thirst for ambiguity

 

A gourmet prerogative

Feeling is a the great gamble

For sensitive types like me