Written sometime in the 20th century

you see there is no need for titles

because the poem is a name in and of itself
extending from the thought to the paper
spreading out and merging with the shimmering air

and there is no need for words
they are only labels
which we all have been forced to memorise
an inheritance forced upon us

but there is a space beyond these lines
there are feelings which have never been coded

and i possess a love unspoken and never seen

it has never been written
but upon your eyes

never been spoken
but i hear it in our caresses
it calls me as your hands move across my body

the distance of our love is the time between two kisses
the area is the curve of your legs
the volume grows in proportion to the closeness of our bodies

the conjugation of myself (92?)

I

look

over my shoulder and into my past

my hands fluttering in the air

i threw down the words as soon as they entered my mind

grabbing and hurling them from me

i threw the words onto paper

so that my hands would not be burned

i had always understood my past as if it were an open picture book

the book was full

there were chapters of recriminations

footnotes of apologies

flowing explanations with numeric listings

all in alphabetical order

an index of sarcasms

a table of sobs and cries

there were all of the things that i had been meaning to say

listed carefully

waiting for the occasion

which was always there

i knew that book so well

had it all down

memorised

quoting my favorite passages by heart

there was no aspect unforeseen

no idiosyncrasy undefined

i felt a need to break this tyranny

a longing for sheets of clean white paper

but i saw myself too often

my fear of heights kept me immobilised

frozen like snow in the back of the freezer

when i did feel warmth it was meagre

almost cheapened of its very essence

II

now come around

stand with your chest rising against my spine

looking towards my future

having broken the binding of the book

pages are strewn upon the ground

i am speaking in liquid tongues of flame

the words of the book will burn

leaving only so many insignificant ashes

i will kiss the spilling stars

and if you are there

the words will strike your brow

and leave no more than a smudge

a trace of nearly forgotten filth

the words have no more meaning

they are weak

almost below my notice

blind and mute

no sweet sounds will spill

from the black and empty gorge of my throat

no light can be seen in my clouded eyes

only the tarnished glow of bitterness

rolling out and falling pas my lips

my future is an automaton of destruction

an unthinking obliteration of my own language

there is no hope

only foul smelling smoke

pouring from my mouth

and slipping from between my teeth

III

and now take my hand and feel my present

there are no senses here

there is no need for them

there is only the knowledge

beyond and more than the words

the thought

never explained

the glance

seen from the corner of the eye

the possibility of an encouraging smile

the probability of a love

unmentioned but felt

the fluttering of a wind against my cheek

i lay in bed savouring the thought of you beside me

your hand in mine

your breathing my only music

my only prophecy of what is to come

your skin is my only shelter for tomorrow

and i want no more

my head turns towards yours

looking at your eyes

which are my only hope of salvation

i feel the heat of your body

inviting me on a voyage

already begun

evercontinuous

a voyage without paths or destinations

and the circle of my extended arms

forms the only answer which i could ever give you

fuimos juntos hasta el sol (89-90)

qué vas a hacer ahora con tus cabezas infinitas?

a qué puedes mirar?

nada

nunca podrías ver nada

esto lo sé

es seguro, fijo en mi mente mezclada

fuimos juntos hasta el sol

y allí me dejaste con mis pensamientos

con mis piernas quemadas

fuiste más allá para recoger tus cabezas

con quantos muertos?

no, no me important los muertos

he matado bastante

pero sentí tus ojos nuevos cuando todavía estabas lejos

y corrí hasta la lluvia cayendo en mi cara

sobre mis piernas

regresé hasta nuestra tierra dura

que se había vuelto al mar

dormí cien años

no, mil

dormí durante guerras

dormí hasta que sentí tus ojos otra vez

los sentí cerca

que estabas mirando

nada

nunca puedes ver nada

esto lo sé

de esto estoy seguro

an attempt to communicate (89-90?)

the edges are slipping out from under the doormat

a crystal moment in time

sneaking up my stairs

one by three

these moments say to me

i would

(a conditional statement)

i want

(a little more direct)

I need

(a plea for help)

i need someone to listen to my fears

to talk to my fantasies

to take me away to another world

if i could only say it right

then there would be someone to love me back

but nothing is given and less is chosen

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