Have you ever
sensed the motion

of moving elsewhere,
to return home feeling
foreign;

was it humbling
to know you've found
a better place to rest,

or did it dawn on you
that you may have

forgotten where it was
you came from?

1.
Cold weather forcing me
to sweat.

Physically uncomfortable,
inspecting brand new streets,
forging my path.


                        2.
                        Drained beyond reason, of
                        all that is tender,

                        as I drink, and drink, while
                        her call remains on hold.

I am sure some have likened you to that princess whose personality astounded the world
But to me, you are that deity who rules the moon and the innermost yearnings of men
Would that I bid you be my charioteer!

But from where did you hail? Who gendered you? Will I pay homage to thine ancestors? Can I offer them a sacrifice as a mortal?
From where do they reign? Art they mightier than thee?
Let them be ten times stronger, I shall still prefer thee!

They say you lord it over the hunters and guide their steps on untrodden paths.
Now I want to be a hunter and walk with you through every wild.
Cypress trees are sacred to you; you must know that my hearth possesses countless buds.

In Greece, they refer to you as Artemis. Why do they make you seem fairer? I have searched for a name of my own invention but failed miserably at the task; for which mortal dares name deities without bringing doom on himself?
Apollo, they say, was your most favourite brother. I wish I was naught but he. For what joy would it have brought me to share your abode!

I wonder why the wind doesn't pause when you smile! Mustn't the sun recoil in shame?
Mustn't nature and all things therein cease to move at the mention of your name?
Why did those mortals name you, Loy? I shall school them on how to spell 'joy' for the mere thought of you already produces joy in abundance.

Can my tears be your tribute? They will flow at your command.
Sweet words have already made their escape; stop them not!
Will I break my bones in your honour, or will I simply write vain verse?
What will become of me who dares befriend a deity, who seeks a natural bond with the unnatural?
Do you discuss me in thy court?  And will confidence save me, or will your dangerous lights strike me down?
Answer me thou, O Diana!

Kiss you like a flower
Hold you like the world
Love you like no tomorrow
If you were my Queen of the Nile
Rich brown caramel skin
Hair glows like fire in the wind
You and I shall rule the world
Lord, send thee a Cleopatra woman

I rise, you fall. Vice Versa, or
one of the two— either way we
both land on our feet.

The music never dies, but
while you do, I live for what I know.

Darkness, ocean;
worlds apart, yet darkness
sleeps in everything,

and you are my favourite kind.
Deep down,
the ocean but a cloud,

its thickness intensifying your
stare, and, finally, we see clearer.

Creatures at the bottom doing more
good than harm.

Specks of light, sun and moon,
dashing about, as only tiny commits
can around one's head.

A love found in death, as well as
diffusion.

Golden rivulets flowing over milking *******,
my lips ******* on swollen pink *******,
moans emanating from one then the other,
farther down I kiss your silky middle,
my eyes are lost in a *****, brown mound.
I seek out magical miracles that bring you
to heights of unending ecstasy that let me
taste Beethoven's adagio composed for
you and me. The moon, you, and I provide
for all three of us a trilogy of love-making
as robins greet the morning sky.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Pardon me, sir.
May I borrow
your squalor
for a photograph?

I love
the repetition
of those wrinkles in your brow.
Hold it, please.

The contrast
of your brown skin
against the white plaster chipping
is marvelous.

When I
get them developed
I'll send you a print.
They'll look great in my portfolio.

Thank you
and your wife
and your eight kids
for this pose in poverty.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS