I ventured to translate this
place by ancient lights in
space- the slime of the
Earth and of the spittle-
into the psychology
of a pregnant woman by the
catacomb of her warm
cathedraled sex- it was
all vaguely in bad taste
of course.
The city was washed in a
melancholy quicksilver. I
had published humorous
little pieces about the
schizo-ghosts of those
drowned animals,
but enough of that,
Barnaby ordered.
Understand it involves
an electronics nut and
a featherheaded girl in-
stead. Grotesquely the
idea appealed to me
strongly like the Milky
Way above me at that
moment in that strange
house of charity.
We were all armed with
the strongest of Universal
forces, Love, but in a
world of manic materialism
this can be, and often
proves to be powerless like
age mistranslated- through
tired elegant eyes- as
everlasting.
-but promise to love
others, too.
Yes, all a delusion.
Remember that book?
It will spread like
an autumn fire among
the windrows.
An apeman sketching
words on near-paper,
think of him as a burst
bubble, a two-headed
lion with one foot and
a woman with two. Live
forever then, O, that
sigh!
It is a house of
Whitherthitherhither-
shins, holy sadness
and magenta stained eyes.
The night flutters by
like a moth snatched
and eaten as a lost
tribe appears crossing
the avenue.
Eyes narrowed broken
glass reconciling the
fantasy years of the
region between. Now
it is a quasisentient
gestalt like Jimmy
Stewart as a Clown
in 1952, the words
here, talk of secrets
lost underground for
years on a subway
train that flew off
the tracks into
a dream unremembered
and things well
beyond the moon.
*Written as a part of Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub*
Matt's Potential Poetry Blog 