Ode to Epigrams


Wordsmith

 

The Sun also rises

So says the Epigraphs

The fragments of Sappho

 

Lost to funny history

Pithy saying, clever last wishes

Give me liberty, dreams and poise

 

For wisdom in brevity

This world is blind to the

Causes of her true happiness

 

If life were fair, art would not rejoice

In the disbelief of suffering

The aphorisms of despair

 

Axioms, Hakiu, sermons of sentience

There are no couplet daffodils left

Only perhaps epitaph tweets

 

That go unread in the hoodwinked hours

Of our celestial clowning

And commonplace anonymity

 

Where to err is just, and to fail is to incite

Our soul to rest from brilliant heights

To put on the puns of last resorts

 

Insult the world before she revels her riddles

The night is young, the days are old

The Sun also rises and a quote feels divine

Here’s another epigram, here’s another universe.

You Loved me into Reality


27

You dance on the day you saved
Me from myself, like a middle-class riot
Of listening for butterflies, in forgotten fields
.
*
I am the lost sweet singer of boyhood
Me and myself, with theoretical angels all around
Hoping for the voice, of connection:
>
.
Rainbows on vacation, time in love’s stand-still
You drink on the day you saved
Me from the world, I was at a cemetery at sunset
.
)
Of my grief, an artificial virtual subjective world
There was no substance to me, sleeping in beds of water
Memories of dissonance, a floating post traumatic stress syndrome
.
*
Of what the big world didn’t find out about me
You laughed on the day you saved
Me from my arrogance, egocentricity, stubbornness
>
.
It sounded like an echo in Chinese to my immature hearing
Like a parasite of heaven, it was my job to know human states
Suffering wore out the overused mirror of unsilvered masterpiece-eyes
.
)
You dream in nude keyholes on the day you saved
Me from my illusions, in erotic awakening I felt
The touch of transformation gentle on my breast
.
*
The butterflies came to get me after all, I confess
In your lips I felt the puissance of the bluest stars
You forged me a passport to eternity, drunk in new language.

Notes to Hands I cannot See


6

I am a beggar for experience
That drop like stars from some beyond
The dropped flakes of virtual minds
We meet more people, every year

I am a beggar for the Color Green
Who tells me secrets of dying syllables
The poetry of admitting wombs
That are not fertile, nobody is perfect

I am a beggar for life’s true worth
To find the deep meaning, behind the chatter
To eclipse the tremors of expectation
And love the gravity of life’s uncertainty

I am a beggar for higher lands
A divine Ferret whom I cannot find
A spiritual paradise of some extremity of mercy
A novel woman who welcomes me home

I am a beggar, because of what I perceive I lack
Toyed in the final inches from love
This is my letter to the world
Of what I risked to gain savory everything.