Neo-anderthals
he said I love you and it was half-true
looking for neo-anderthals in love
that the team was required to understand the neo-exigencies of love
how it creeps up and crystallizes and then you’re stuckrational people call it giving your heart away
this perennial mystery. every ancient european knew it.
you can tell by where they placed their ochred palms.
bewildered he was still waiting to die
he wasn’t too conspicuous in shades and a Steelers hat
after his briefing he grunted
how will they affect the art of chanting
in the caves? how will we keep the art program goin
while we wait for our hecktermination
by the Big Foreheads?the waiting is over big guy we had to tell himthen he cried sobs of extinction and gruntedpaint all the portraits of us you want
leave them slapped on the cave wall after us
but back to what to do with my bones
please please don’t clone me
if you answer one question I said
what is love from your point of view?
art of course he answered his brown eyes
went sad and extinguished and he died mumbling
I love you it was a quarter-true he loved my mark
‘
‘
‘
haha this time I went outside the frame that was not the last line
this is not the last line either slap slap on the wall
nor this haha
nor this last slap slap double-handed in the dark
I saved his humerus some crazy notion
************************************************
plinths
holds a few strewings of nest-builders
above the shadowed universe a bright top
an ant did crawl in – here’s his corpse
to fill with soil or water is to kill
what it is, an empty thing
a vessel may be made to fill
but once made is better left alone
to stand hollow and dry in the day
my darling you decided my moods
when you joked mildly I was content
when you raged I became suicidal
when you were absent I barely moved
dreamed of your insults and praises
you were everywhere filling me
empty again I smell old apples
from when you stored your fruit
this is not a reproach this is a plinth
I must stop making plinths and start making soap
‘
‘
‘
****************************************
vase
before rising
a moment of fog-
breeze. you know
it will brighten and
create birds. soon sun
will spread down the trees.
sough of ocean means calm
words. the neighbor in his yard
reaches for a chicken-gift. newspaper
hits gate and the body aches to rise re-
make its ties. where has it been to?
it cannot speak to tell you that
here among quiet delights are
burrowing sowbugs snails
and worms taking silent
bites even in bed but you
with holes in leaves will
still vine up and fruit
brief red before the
mildness ends. you
lift your face your
eyes and mouth
under a veil of
dew. he touch
es through.
wind-shells
clatter. yo
ur eyes
pulse
blur
ring
thro
ugh
water.
the vase.
vase 4: ikons
to be kissing us. He is life itself, all human possibility—posted on peeling walls
in Sadr City, Kandahar, Jericho. She seems more powerful than the kills.
A photo for the ages, forever, subsides as new catastrophes flood
through. But this: joined him in the afterlife. The uproar usually
recently, the Russians shot him. So she became a bomb—
Makarov. All the photo: guns, her lips, his shirt;
unbearably beautiful and her small finger
on the trigger of the snub-nosed
proudly in the embrace. Then
we see her black-clad wrist
clutching a long-barreled
Stekhin. She, enveloped
in love. His arm tight
around her black
robe, his hand
what we see:
a foreign
couple,
heads
tog
eth
er,
http://static1.buenosairesherald.com/media/news/images/destacada/19998_russia.jpg
in
lov
e. H
is ar
m ti
ght ar
ound her
black robe,
his hand clutch
ing a long-barrel
ed Stekhin. She, en
veloped proudly in the
embrace. Then we see her
black-clad wrist beautiful and
her small finger on the trigger of the
snub-nosed Makarov. All the photo: guns, her
lips, his shirt: unbearably recently, the Russians
shot him. So she became a bomb—joined him in the
afterlife. The uproar usually subsides as new catastrophes
flood through. But this: more powerful than the kills. A photo for
the ages, forever posted on peeling walls in Sadr City, Kandahar, Je
richo. She seems to be kissing us. He is life itself, all human possibility—
Nechaev. Einstein’s photo. Man on the Moon. John and Yoko in bed. pure. ikons.
