Saturday, August 29, 2009

Postlude

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Now that I have cooled to you
Let there be gold of tarnished masonry,
Temples soothed by the sun to ruin
That sleep utterly.
Give me hand for the dances,
Ripples at Philae, in and out,
And lips, my Lesbian,
Wall flowers that once were flame.
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Your hair is my Carthage
And my arms the bow,
And our words arrows
To shoot the stars
Who from that misty sea
Swarm to destroy us.
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But you there beside me—
Oh, how shall I defy you,
Who wound me in the night
With breasts shining
Like Venus and like Mars?
The night that is shouting Jason
When the loud eaves rattle
As with waves above me
Blue at the prow of my desire.
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5 comments:

  1. S- this is simply the most beautiful thing I remember reading. You are in the zone, Girl.
    I think you need to find a lil of this carthage soon. ~rick

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  2. Are you even of this time? I can't imagine you for one single second in aisles of plastic or with feet touching concrete. You are other worldly.

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  3. Rick, I've been thinking much the same thing. I'm running too much of keyboard ink through my veins, rather than fired-up blood, too much of these paper screens, rather than a lover's touch. I'm missing something too long gone, too much of bodies pulled of yesterday's well. It may be time for my Carthage, yes.

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  4. Woman, I've been reading much of Neruda and Paz these last few days, and this one, William Carlos Williams, writes just as beautifully, I think. This place here, Erato, is my parking spot for pieces of poetry that speak their deep and lovely into me, poetry with an old world flair.

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  5. The painting is called Chloe. She is on display at the corner of Flinders and Swanson st Melbourne Australia at Young & Jacksons. Opposite Flinders street station. Open to the public.

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