All in the palm of your hand it

lingers and blinks inside

doing nothing, reflecting all

black mirror made personal

in your pocket or in your purse

maybe a modern curse —

to have the whole world in your hand

yet

you only see it in

three by five inch glances

at any one time.

she said to me, while beside me I laid

in our bed, the night creeping long and blue. 

I wanted to read ancient poetry

‘ere the bombs fall down to flatten us all

She wanted to know if she could still go

to her nail appointment before the deluge –

I wanted to read ancient poetry

‘ere the bombs fall down to flatten us all

She wanted to know if she could still go

to her nail appointment before the deluge –

Look at the polls, read the between lines

of whatever substance 

see the leaves and eat the beans

the war started yesterday night

we never saw it 

it never began or ended

I just want my espresso 

and my morning cigarette. 

Get Drunk

“You must always be drunk. There it is: it’s the most unique question. To not bear the horrible fardels of time that break your shoulders and lean you into the ground you must drink without a break.

But what to drink? Wine, poetry, or virtue, whatever you like. But you must drink.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace, on the green grass, in a ditch, in the gloomy solitude of your room, you will wake up, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the waves, the stars, the birds, the clocks, everything that has happened, everything that moans, everything that rolls around, everything that sings, everything that talks, asking what time it is; and the wind, the waves, the stars, the birds, the clocks tell you: “It’s time to drink!”

So we’re not slaves martyred by time, you must drink; you must drink without stopping. Of wine, of poetry, of virtue, whatever you like!”

Like angels with fauve eyes

I come back to your alcove

sidle right up to you silently

with the shadows of the night;

I’ll give you my brunette

kisses cold as the moon

caress you like a snake

slithering around a grave.

When palest dawn arrives

you’ll find my spot empty

it will be cold until the night;

Others will try with tenderness

with your life and some with your youth.

Me, I will tame you with cold.

Unravel, unfollow into the earth

below the mountain all the evidence 

of life, of ideas is displayed for you

all of it came from somewhere or fell

to where it now lays for you to find. 

Bacchanal or Last Supper, you pick it:

neither was your idea anyway

stop saying it was, while you quickly write 

post it notes never lie for long in wind

they twirl until nothing remains of them. 

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