A paradox in itself
But then I saw her there across
the room
through flocks and flocks of 'beautiful'
silly seagulls --
              frivolously flocking,
                                            pecking at
the shiniest trash that flutters by
Only to swallow
pass
flock, peck again
-----------------------------------------------------------­---
She intrigued my mind
   through
the eye I saw her beak was flat                                y
no craning,
                  crooning neck                                   l
                                           and could not f
for she had no wings
... maybe we do not care to fly!
------------------------------------------------------------­--
Like the Red Sea
She-Moses split through the flock
to me,
beakless
surrounded by chronically cocking faces
all but one,
                                                            ­          all alone
She had been                                                     too
-------------------------------------------------------------­
Now next to me
                                                              ­                                        No wandering eye could care
in soundless conversation
proclaimed we
                       are together
as one we surely gleamed as gold
too bright for gulls to see
              ...Mastur-consolation?
------------------------­-------------------------------------
And so it's true
we were                   alone
                               together
perfect paradoxical bliss

You're actually not perfect.
I finally found your flaw.
Which is ironic,
Because your only flaw...

Is that you're in love with me.

I must not gaze at them although
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;

I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.

Like the wild organs of the winter storm
Is the people gloomy rage,
The purple billow of battle
Of stars leaf-stripped.
With broken brows, silvery arms
The night beckons to dying soldiers.
In the autumnal ash-tree’s shade
The ghosts of the killed are sighing.

Thorny wilderness surrounds the town.
From steps that bleeds the moon
Drives off dumbfounded women.
Wild wolves have burst through the gate.

kiss me please.
kiss me hard.
let it leave
a mark, a scar.
let it burn and be a star.
kiss me please
and leave me charred.

I'm not so far away
as to miss it when you say
the way you feel.
i'll listen
and i'll pray
that it's real,
and steal a kiss
so that we may pay
only attention
to the tension between
our blue pools
atop mountains,
bringing them both
to the valley
to meet in the middle
and make up the sea.

kiss me.

she despises december through march
the arch of endless grey
when her body fades to snow, and
the dreaded holidays
come in perpetual flow
unshed rivers, ****** behind
those tired eyes
her velvet voice is rarely heard
truly,
weeks go by without a word
all year she fears
that day of months
afraid this time
she
     will
            dis
                 a
                       ppe

                                  a



            
                                                        r