"marsyas" poems
Brotan ahora todos los sueños, surtidores canoros
(ruiseñores bulbules), -palmeras esteli-dáctilas (verdegayes Apolos,
Marsyas zinzolines y Momos policromos)-,
surten, irruyen todos los sueños: voces viriles (sobran gorjeos y gorgoritos y gorigoros).
Saltan ahora todos los sueños, alcotanes y neblíes y azores, -desde sus hórreos-,
halietos, gerifaltes, halcones borníes eufóricos
y tagres y alfaneques y sacres y esparveres jubilosos!
(No a la caza de pieza alguna! ¡No llevan rumbo ni meta ni piloto, 1
ni derrotero ni objetivo! ¡Vacantes son y en huelga, sueños ensueños en ocio!).
Saltan ahora todos los sueños, a que zozobren -procelarias- en los Pontos;
saltan, para que el Viento espárzalos, alíferos farautes estentóreos,
¡a que el Viento dispérselos, favilas hechas Coros!
888
-
I wake
A thirst
A terrible thirst
Rouses me from dreamless sleep
So down to the kitchen
To douse and slake
With book in hand...
-
Aurthur
A hero?
This King of golden,
Olden tales
More like David
Than I previously knew!
-
A boatload of infants
Four weeks old and unattended
Born around May Day
And a good man's wife
Plays wet nurse
to King Aurthur's undoing
-
Elsewhere on my bookshelf,
Apollo strips
Marsyas of his outer finery
After winning the battle
...Of the bands
-
Flayings a-plenty on canvases
In my image search results
...With "happy little trees"
And the Faun
Skinned to his knees
-
Soothing voice of Bob Ross plays
on loop in my head
Some of the only peace that has come
Of late
-
Happy-little-flayings
Happy-little-monstrosities
-
The sky is darkened, the sun is hiding
his face in skies over 'round the
eastern edge...and the moon is
refusing to shine her light.
-
I open my throat and try to
say...anything
To YOU
.
.
.
And back toward my bedroom I climb
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC