Tuesday, November 03, 2009

I have a snail on the tip of each finger
as I duck below the window
on the public library's 2nd floor.
Poisonous blue light pours over the sill
and I blink beneath it, under my increasing hat.

My fingertips grow numb, the snails start to move
toward the first knuckles, the windowsill melts,
I hide in the trashcan. I shiver and the shells
make music on the garbage-streaked walls.

Then a noise at the lid, and an alien
creature smiling: the smile the most alien
part of her, her eyeglasses built into her skin,
I offer her the snails and she gobbles them up
with bittersweet little sounds,
then I produce a thin goblet of red wine

made from the poison light distilled into
this small communication, turned purple.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

SONNET XXXIX FOR KATIE

I went downtown, saw Katie in the nude
on Common Avenue, detracted soltitude
as it were, like a dream-state rosely hued,
like no one else could see her; DAMN! I phewed;

was reciprokelly then, thank heaven, viewed,
bestowed unique hard-on! but NOT eschewed,
contrair-ee-lee, she took a somewhat rude
'n readidy attude of Sex Prelude; it BREWED!

And for a start, i hiccuped "Hi!", imbued
with Moooood! She toodledooed: "How queued
your awe-full specie-ally-tee, Sir Lewd,
to prove (alas!), to have me finely screwed,

and hopef'lly afterwards beloved, wooed,
alive, huh? Don't you even DO it, Duu-uuude!"

My English Poetry Blog

More...

Casualidad sopla la sangre
de alguno señor desconocido
durante los pocos restantes
momentos del resplandor de faroles

que se vislumbran tras el follaje
flameando de las obsesiónes
igual efimero como gotas
del cinzano de la soledad –

En aquel tiempo me levanta
dentro uno incidente avejentado
que en seguida palidece
al camouflaje de abstraccion;

chica, nadie conoce que tus grisos
ojos significan aún; con todo
el sueño que hube evacuado
tu escudriñas nuevamente.

My spanish poetry blog

My Music Blog

My Babe Wallpapers

Feel free to announce your blog on mine.

- Peter Ingestad, Sweden