Tony

he has eyes like an indian goddess
they seem to melt in my hands
as i reach around his tall lithe body

he is beautiful

the way i feel when i lean back against him
his long arms encircling

his voice
caressing
as his long fingers
moving over my chest

eyebrows that arch over the rainbows
a glamorous cloud of movement
which has opened upon the ages

fragments translated from a french poem called zinc

Is it possible to fall in love with a photo
or with the whiteness of an arm
a metallic reflexion

my vision opens out like a line of teeth
the reasoning escapes me and the ideas fly away
each fragment a vision of its own truth
angels no longer within my grasp

childhood bragging

he is wearing a fireman's hat

being head of the spider patrol

we search out spiders

then we kill them

my youngest cousin still in diapers

hits me over the head with a tonka truck

while my back is turned

we burn ants under a giant magnifying glass

i eat dandelions, orange paint, paste and dirt

i can step on a bee with my bare feet

i can let my spit hang to the ground

then suck it all in

sitting on the steps 

friends are playing touch football in the street

i want to be inside

sitting in the darkened basement

the shiny black piano bench

a small grey shading tv

marine boy eyes shining

with an unexplainable sadness

perhaps in the eyes of the eternals

weariness pooling in light

just to put it out there

amy winehouse is dead
we could all see the her death coming
the public of life of an instable talent blown and blown until she bursts
nobody is surprised and the syrup flows out over the net