Sonnet IIISonnet IIISonnet III
Now, sing to me. O love, your song simp’ly tends to my wounds; their scars/their leers. To your dark hair ev’ry glance is a stare which tears at me;
&nbs
Dim-Lit TranferencesLost within these broken streetlights, I search the deep manholes for sight. The dark covers shun me, but grant me life.Dim-Lit Tranferences
It’s you, it’s you, my dear that might free this hellishly coy daylight
from sewer covers; lovingly – rusted from strife are all these broken streetlights. &n
Moon MilkIn the belly of my sleep, where everything is mixed together, From round, bulky opalsMoon Milk
I was weaned on butterfly wings.
I grew to be sanguine, -in the purplest way you can imagine And eventually, I taught myself
a melancholy vocabulary for the moon.
The moon− like most moons is made of persistence Its milky shine suckled from the dark,
swinging bosom of the cosmos -our own little trickle of the night.
From inside the dark lips of sky Our eyes taste silver and silk milky, and curving,
-dew-drop between the stars.
40. 4:29PMDetour through a Street that Smelled of Curry40. 4:29PM
Around downtown: the street, the heat, the noise of boys, ramshack- le black houses.
Mustard oil, card- amom and lamb waft soft, aloft within the thin hot air.
The shops, the hops- cotch games. Surnames are tossed across the street like meat to dogs.
The sweat on wet tourists whose wrists sag down, who frown and ache to slake their thirst.
D:
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| MIMESIS |
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There is always some madness in love. But there is also some reason in madness ~ Oscar Wilde
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It really is a shame about raisins
Often times I find myself wishing I could be a metaphor.
Satine says "YES. I NEED YOUR POETRY NOW!"
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