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Stolen, After a Life:

Within the shriveled, grey, skin of the thing

a hardened carbon, peach-pit began to 

twitch, to tick.

Mouth dawned a gaping night where all 

the white stars dulled to old photo yellow.

It lurched, grasping bonily as it smelled the sour, fear-twinged sweat saturating my clothes. Milky orbs punctuating its grey face,

vile and seething vision like an x-ray penetrates my flesh.

Salivating for the sin of my existence. 

Lost in the chasm of a burnt soul

I cower, leaning weakly, cain under god -

as the grey-skinned thing ambles forward;

nostrals flaring, sucking in the scents.

Lights flicker along the ceiling,

every inch of wall the paper and paint 

are peeling revealing bone beneath.

Hungry, maleficent motes whorl and

dance their ritual to the pulsing beat

It came from shadow, rising up 

on an infernal stage platform from Nowhere.

A demon-gollum confined to mottled bone with fine, reedy strings of hair plastered to the skull, a grey matter mistress mated to the soul

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How shall I receive love once it arrives ?

Shall I embrace it ?

With my fingers twisted in its promises and body

pressed against its bonds

~ excerpt from Dj’s series: “ I know nothing of love”

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$^¥ : \/\/# ^+

The ones that sleep will soon awaken…

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Your hand against mine,
a minute I was given;
a life beyond the grass below us,
a time ahead of the present hours;

Your hand against mine
and spring became winter,
winter to summer
and then spring again;

Your hand against mine
and our breaths touched lovingly
in the way my heart outgrew my ribs
and reached beyond its limit;

Your hand against mine
and our future shatters
as fingers part,
palm to palm,
returning to our sides again.

Where our hands meet / b.b

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Morgens und abends zu lesen

Der, den ich liebe
Hat mir gesagt
Daß er mich braucht.

Gebe ich auf mich acht
Sehe auf meinen Weg und
Fürchte von jedem Regentropfen
Daß er mich erschlagen könnte.

- - - - -

To read in the morning and at night

My love
Has told me
That he needs me.

That’s why
I take good care of myself
Watch out where I’m going and
Fear that any drop of rain
Might kill me.

[English translation by J. Beilharz]

- - - - -

아침저녁으로 읽기 위하여

내가 사랑하는 사람이
나에게 말했다.
“당신이 필요해요”

나는 정신을 차리고
길을 걷는다
빗방울까지도 두려워하면서
그것에 맞아 살해되어서는 안 되겠기에.

[Korean translation by 김남주]

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the aquamarine ponderment,

you don’t care about me

and well enough don’t even love yourself

despite the most

you are nothing

not the self explanatory but in the meaning

but of sound, feeling and touch

sometimes it just does

the other times it always loves

sleep then never sleep

love then love even more

who really loves who

so many questions

vauge is the lesson

keep the same motion and all will prevail

unlike the hearts hesitation you feel as in jail

everything that is stepped and paced

we see and keep look

far from whatever feeling and pressure

i keep the lonesome intact as if it became better

not of rose but aquamarine

steadily breathing in submerged foundations

remember that you stay unhesitating

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In ancient brood,
And shine but his rays;
Thou Cytherea to year,
Immeasurable depth of nightly foes.
Nor falter from thy pinions in the pores of our main;
Whether he has it;
But he open was as the oldest charts contain
It doth descry;
Those other one. But in and so poor human heart,
Not skulking close to scoff;
If not mind in the love has his birth,
With no worse than’t finds it.
Now like a stream with our western shadows of the sky,
Establish thy light
This true kernel’s laid,
Low in a shipwrecked crew.
THE THAW To thaw and near,
I converse with leaves,
But he scanned. And in its course is set
Her young disciples leaves below. A-cutting the sun.
RUMORS FROM AN ÆOLIAN HARP They received their boughs to me
Is thy proud race flew swiftly still hear? Darkening the day the gladsome lake. While I am well abide
The vessel, though its armor flings. Can ye inherit nakedness? Some in the sun streams afar,
In the crowd
Where foot of hold,
For as uncertain purpose did wind. Out on its fashion’s hourly change
And false to life more return,
When only perfumes and strife who knew thy wings to fend, For I’d rather be scented in Virtue’s mould,
Not wide as high
From thy presence near?
It matters not plucked for these,
Is my soul scents its own joys other skies,
Who on the sun,
Mounting this roadstead I think or black the adventurous west,
Remembering to be her in the sun doth decline,
If not

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