The Sphynx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled,
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.?
"Who'll tell me my secret
The ages have kept?
? I awaited the seer,
While they slumbered and slept;?

The fate of the manchild,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown,
Dædalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep,
Life death overtaking,
Deep underneath deep.

***** as a sunbeam
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert!
Your silence he sings.

The waves unashamed
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet.
The journeying atoms,
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

The babe by its mother
Lies bathed in joy,
Glide its hours uncounted,
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being
Without cloud in its eyes,
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals,
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

Out spoke the great mother
Beholding his fear,
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere;?
Who has drugged my boy's cup,
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who with sadness and madness
Has turned the manchild's head?"?

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphynx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time,
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

The fiend that man harries,
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the Pit of the Dragon
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The Lethe of Nature
Can't trance him again,
Whose soul sees the Perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

Profounder, profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
To his aye-rolling orbit
No goal will arrive.
The heavens that draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found, ?for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores,
And the joy that is sweetest
Lurks in stings of remorse.
Have I a lover
Who is noble and free,?
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies,
And under pain, pleasure,
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the centre,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

Dull Sphynx, Jove keep thy five wits!
Thy sight is growing blear,
Rue, myrrh, and ****** for the Sphynx,
Her muddy eyes to clear."
The old Sphynx bit her thick lip,?
"Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow!
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh,
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy quest through nature,
It through thousand natures ply,
Ask on, thou clothed eternity,?
Time is the false reply."

Uprose the merry Sphynx,
And crouched no more in stone,
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon,
She spired into a yellow flame,
She flowered in blossoms red,
She flowed into a foaming wave,
She stood Monadnoc's head.

Thorough a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame,
"Who telleth one of my meanings,
Is master of all I am."

through the grating hum
of forever closing locker lids
they sing textbook hallelujahs

we are the quiet ones
stalking hallways
like burnt words under
shuddered breath
our skin is calloused
to rip your shallow daggers
and teach you painless peace

so when you sleep
imagine we are drifting
about your eyelids
a breath away
from bruised

Hers was the first face I found
freshman year at FSU.
I'll always remember that garish orange and green gator shirt,
and pin with the picture of a bulldog,
hanging from a noose.
I thought, oh Jeez, she's got school spirit,
and I shuddered at the image,
of cheerleaders, and sports stars, recieving preferential treatment,
but my first impression was far from the mark.

She had a smile for miles and eyes to match.
And a laugh that could shatter a frown.
And she laughed any chance she got.
The few pictures I have left of her,
she is laughing and smiling in each...
That big toothy smile,
and that magical laugh...

I remember the first time she kissed me.
I was playing my guitar on campus,
back when everybody did it,
not just pretentious *******
trying to show off.
She came up behind me,
and did the old hands over the eyes routine,
and of course I knew her voice immediately.
She turned my head and kissed me,
for the first time,
and I could hear the whispering,
and feel everyone's eyes on me,
and it felt pretty **** good.
How I wished someone had snapped a picture,
for the FSView, with the caption
" Future valedictorian kisses scruffy hippy freshman.
Entire student body baffled."

I was baffled.

She was the talk of the campus,
she spoke her mind always,
and she was active all over the campus,
doing this and that.
I asked her one day,
"Why do you make your life so complex,
when do you rest?"
and she said
"My life used to be complex, because I made it that way.
But believe it or not, with all I do around campus,
really my life is simple and fun. If I didn't love what I am doing
I would stop Will. Life is too short for complexity."

I laughed, and I thought to myself,
this woman is more complex than she lets on.

We went out for my entire freshman year,
but she graduated my sophmore year,
and she got a job in London, and she moved away that summer.
I said I would visit...I never did..
She said she would write...she did, once,
to tell me she was getting married,
she even invited me, but of course I didn't go..
She enclosed a photo of her and her fiance,
and it was clear what she saw in him..
he had a smile almost as big as hers,
and of course she was smiling too..
Of all the images burned into my memory
that picture is the one that hurts me most.

I wrote back, wishing her luck, and I told her I couldn't come,
I never heard from her again, but I prayed that night,
that he would treat her right, and if he took away her smile,
I prayed he would suffer, until he put it back.

Every time I close my eyes, I see that picture...
that smile...
I hope she's smiling, even as I write these words.

I’d fling the sun far into your cut corner
and shove moonlight broadly onto your toenails
you would want for so little
as the oceans carry you to shores of your water borne desire

wicked is the world stream when high hopes pegged precarious
onto chalky lines that shift like changing clouds
and lend its kind illusory touch under the lee

end dashed like outcast mirrors whose use
is rod cracked like inside the core of acrid earth
where awaits hot lava in secret fissures to melt all ropes
to bridge so narrow a wing's gapped fluke

jerking maestroms circle overhead
inducing desultory plunge
finger pointing, egg-beating, giddy whirly whirl

a day will come as yet unknown
when soul rags are panel worked and hylic sheathed
when latticed treats, as American as apple pie
will fill that tabled sky decked with cirrus tablecloth

averted seeker squint feels that cat-eyed wonder
flattened insect on a troubled screen with translucent beauty wings
lets in a dry smile ***** of real life dust in heretical relief

rupture
        ventilation
bolt that flippin' door – shut out the ****** world – make fast the curtain sides
broach the unslotted gap you know is yours and proclaim it wide: open sesame!
gouge your way into me - till I’m fully plugged with light
caulk me with your fingers till my spine near cracks
spike my heart with currents from the milk rush of you
pierce my thigh strips and whip the whetted words out me
tap into the slinky slices of my pervious skylit want
there will be no occlusion as arches meet under shuddered pleats

no, I have precious little time or heart to draw cute sunshine panels onto your retracted sleeve
in that stead, I can really be just plain me
who’d  eagerly wrench pale-blue patches from the sky cloth
and steal in zest moonbeams from lovers’ eyes
and heartily fling the sun your way and rob its life-giving warmth
and gladly rip up torn foliage from its homes
along with pert petals from fickle floral parties

if only these were things you’d want
yet, well I know whatever be the pains
there waits little gain
feral feline will trouble little more
heart swing derision flies poor as sad plighted answer rings on

The boat ploughed on. Now Alcatraz was past
And all the grey waves flamed to red again
At the dead sun's last glimmer. Far and vast
The Sausalito lights burned suddenly
In little dots and clumps, as if a pen
Had scrawled vague lines of gold across the hills;
The sky was like a cup some rare wine fills,
And stars came as he watched
-- and he was free
One splendid instant -- back in the great room,
Curled in a chair with all of them beside
And the whole world a rush of happy voices,
With laughter beating in a clamorous tide. . . .
Saw once again the heat of harvest fume
Up to the empty sky in threads like glass,
And ran, and was a part of what rejoices
In thunderous nights of rain; lay in the grass
Sun-baked and tired, looking through a maze
Of tiny stems into a new green world;
Once more knew eves of perfume, days ablaze
With clear, dry heat on the brown, rolling fields;
Shuddered with fearful ecstasy in bed
Over a book of knights and ****** shields . . .
The ship slowed, jarred and stopped. There, straight ahead,
Were dock and fellows. Stumbling, he was whirled
Out and away to meet them -- and his back
Slumped to the old half-cringe, his hands fell slack;
A big boy's arm went round him -- and a twist
Sent shattering pain along his tortured wrist,
As a voice cried, a bloated voice and fat,
"Why it's Miss Nancy! Come along, you rat!"

He looked at me with luscious
devious eyes so, I winked asked
him did he want some action; his
look was of a fatal attraction and
his mind locked me in *******; his
eyes denuded my flesh as he suckled
my breast, I coiled in pleasured duress

He licked his lips as I submitted to his
lustful toying, moans acknowledge my
attraction to his lascivious actions and he
salivated ensnaring nakedness in roped
interaction

As his appetizing admonishment began;
I wickedly grinned and to his chagrin;
tightened my bonds, splayed cheeks
coaxing me to seep as his tongue licked
in calculated dips and I shuddered in
satisfaction with each sip

Wet lips began to quiver; each taunt
delivered, hands slid behind back with another
toy he attacked, eight inches long in & out, I began to
sing a song as pleasure surged, wracking my body;
begging for more each time its full measure dipped
into my treasure

I looked up as he turned me over dripping wet,
I smiled, winked again with another wicked grin,
fore, he had no idea what he'd gotten into; he tied
up the wrong nymph, thought I was just a sweet
kitten; had him smitten after gettin' a taste, as if,
he'd lost his mitten playing with this sultry kitten

Morning pallor on a grey day
not a five cent shine
to the sun.

Bitumen hissed all night
trees tossed and tangoed
shuddered and split.

Navy clouds, blue with rain
surfed in from the ocean
racing on the wild wind
learning to scream.

The stones listened
moon listed and tried to find
a space in the cloud-tide rush
to quiet-light the gloom.

Morning Armistice on a pale grey day
of debris and displacement
refugees and leaf litter
surrender and detachment
silent and still
only a five cent shine to the sun

© M.L.Emmett

I want to dash through the fields of your *******
Allowing the sun to gleam down on us
Spirited and blossoming with child like minds
Your fingers encircle me so
Tenderly I allow you to dance with my kiss
I want to touch love                  
With a fluttering as you caressed my breast
I feel harmony as you retreat across me
Ripples arousing in my core
I stare at this measureless fragility
As your gaze feels painted with despair
My flesh is damp and ready to dream
I tremble deeply burning
Swollen *******, fevered kisses
I smell peaches tangled in the sea
You massage me underneath
Feeling as though I cant breathe
Your teeth roam my velvet perfection
You seem to be impatient
Pulling me near as I see myself in the mirror
You begin to descend into me
I felt shriveled as he shuddered and shook
He felt like ice melting in a storm
So I swam into the lonely moonlight
And watched my silhouette wander into the hallucination of me

The Sphinx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled:
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.
"Who'll tell me my secret,
The ages have kept?_
I awaited the seer
While they slumbered and slept:_
"The fate of the man-child,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown;
Daedalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep;
Life death overtaking;
Deep underneath deep?

:***** as a sunbeam,
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses,
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert,
Your silence he sings.

"The waves, unashaméd,
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet;
The journeying atoms,  
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

"Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,--
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

"The babe by its mother
Lies bathéd in joy;
Glide its hours uncounted,--
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being,
Without cloud, in its eyes;
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

"But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals;
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

"Out spoke the great mother,
Beholding his fear;--
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere:--
'Who has drugged my boy's cup?
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who, with sadness and madness,
Has turned my child's head?

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

"The fiend that man harries
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the pit of the Dragon,
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The lethe of Nature
Can't trance him again,
Whose soul sees the perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

"To vision profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
His aye-rolling orb
At no goal will arrive;
The heavens that now draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found,--for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

"Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores;
Lurks the joy that is sweetest
In stings of remorse.
Have I a lover  
Who is noble and free?--
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

"Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies;
And under pain, pleasure,--
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the center,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

"Dull Sphinx, Jove keep thy five wits'
Thy sight is growing blear;
Rue, myrrh and ****** for the Sphinx,
Her muddy eyes to clear!"
The old Sphinx bit her thick lip,--
Said, "Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow;
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

"Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy question through nature,
It through thousand natures ply;
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
Time is the false reply.

Uprose the merry Sphinx,
And crouched no more in stone;
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon;
She spired into a yellow flame;
She flowered in blossoms red;
She flowed into a foaming wave:
She stood Monadnoc's head.

Through a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame
"Who telleth one of my meanings
Is master of all I am."

People told me you were a smoker-
nothing but trouble,
and that you were left overs
from girls who had left because they were
scared
I didn't listen, I just wanted to kiss
away the nicotine, I got withdrawls without
being addicted, and our lips never met
because I kept shoving you away,
you kept reaching for the skin under my 
'Fall Out Boy' t-shirt 
And you told me that I made you hot,
and I just giggled and said you didn't
need me, you were the hottest guy I had ever seen
but I knew what you meant,
I could feel the desire on your breath
against my neck

you took me to a concert
with the music blaring in my ears, I could
barely hear what you said but I could see
the way your eyes moved and the way that my heart started to sink
when our eyes met
so our sweaty bodies pressed against eachother in time to the music
and I laughed when you sang those songs about love and heartbreak
staring at me, because I didn't realize (I never realized)
that I meant that much to you 
(I thought it was always a joke, the way you needed me. I didn't
understand that the music spoke to you about me)

I asked you, still wearing the t-shirt (much to your dismay)
which Fall Out Boy song
could be ours, and as you stared
at the anchor (I asked you to lift your eyes but you wouldn't)
you chose Alone Together, or 
was it The Phoenix, I couldn't remember,
but you said I was your phoenix,
and I laughed and compared you to Albus Dumbledore,
but inside I wasn't laughing, because there was
fiery desire in your finger tips,
and I wondered if I really would burst into flames
(or tears, but either way, would I come back to life?)
But I thought it was the coolest thing
that you thought I was **** (like Finn said to Rachel during their
prom king and queen dance)

but inside I stared at you the same way
watching my heart slowly crack because I was never as desirable
as pretty as she could be.
you deserved to be with somone like her,
someone who's body fits perfectly into yours
who would fit right into a magazine photoshoot right beside you
while I took the photographs of the perfect couple..
I put on my best clothes and dressed up hoping to look like sleeping beauty to you 
but you laughed at me and asked why I looked so fancy
we were only watching Peter Pan, like we did every friday
(and I was Tinkerbell, because you were too blinded by someone else 
to see me)

I remember that I asked you, on a Wednesday 
(you pointed out my bracelet and told me it was **** Day,
and winked, and I shuddered inwardly)
why you left the last girl-
and you said because she was a princess
and I was a queen,
and I laughed and threw my arms around your neck
and we kissed and I tasted nicotine, your hands were cold
against my neck.
That was it. That was my wake up call.
I was nothing but a body to you,
my chest and rear were big,
larger than most,
so I shoved you away again, and then turned on my heel,
and said 'you are my ashes, and I have risen out of you',
and then I was gone on my Phoenix Wings.
But that was not the end of it,
because then I visited her, your ex,
and I told her what happened, and let myself cry a little,
and the two of us watched Peter Pan,
and I made a friend, because we had both dated Captain Hook.

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;
“Good speed!” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
“Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the ***** crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Duffeld, ’twas morning as plain as could be;
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,
So Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time!”

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray:

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye’s black intelligence,—ever that glance
O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault’s not in her,
We’ll remember at Aix”—for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,
’Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And “Gallop,” gasped Joris, “for Aix is in sight!”

“How they’ll greet us!”—and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-socket’s rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,
Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is—friends flocking round
As I sat with his head ‘twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

The city of love was shuddered today
A proposal was rescheduled and a sweet gesture silenced
By a scattering of devils who advocate terror & violence
The Mona Lisa wept and the Metro bawled
‘Où est le courage?’
Il n’y avait pas courage
The cowardly men who fought guns against pens
Let them know after all their wrong
The Eiffel tower still remains tall and strong
For it is the liberal views that brought Paris such beauty and wonder
Freedom of speech will rage through the lightning and the thunder

Your husband died at 40, leaving you to raise seven children alone.
But not before your eldest, hardest working son, Juan, had
Drowned at sea in his late teens while working as a fisherman to help
You and your husband put food on the table.

You lost a daughter, too,
Toñita, also in her early teens, to illness.
Their kind, pure souls found
Their way back home much too soon.

Later in life you would lose two more sons to tragedy, Paco (Francisco),
An honest, hard working man whose purposeful penchant for shocking
Language belied a most gentle nature and a generous heart. He was electrocuted by
A faulty portable light while working around his pool.

And the apple of your eye, Sito (José), your last born and most loving son, who
Had inherited his father’s exceptional looks, social conscience, left of center
Politics, imposing presence, silver tongue, and bad, bad luck, died, falling
Under the wheels of a moving train, perhaps accidentally.

In a time of hopelessness and poverty, you would not be broken.
You rose every day hours before the dawn to sell fish at a stand.
And every afternoon you placed a huge wicker basket on your head and
Walked many, many miles to sell even more fish in other towns.

Money was tight, so you often took bartered goods in
Exchange for your fish, giving some to those most in need,
Who could trade nothing in return but their
Blessings and their gratitude.

You walked back home, late at night, through darkness or
Moonlit roads, carrying vegetables, eggs, and perhaps a
Rabbit or chicken in a large wicker basket on your strong head,
Walking straight, on varicose-veined legs, driven on by a sense of purpose.

During the worst famine during and after the Civil War, the chimney of your
Rented home overlooking the Port of Fontan, spewed forth black smoke every day.
Your hearth fire burned to to feed not just your children, but also your less
Fortunate neighbors, nourishing their bodies and their need for hope.

You were criticized by some when the worst had passed, after the war.
“Why work so hard, Remedios, and allow your young children to go to work
At too young an age? You sacrifice them and yourself for stupid pride when
Franco and foreign food aid provide free meals for the needy.”

“My children will never live off charity as long as my back is strong” was your Reply.
You resented your husband for putting politics above family and
Dragging you and your two daughters, from your safe, comfortable home at
Number 10 Perry Street near the Village to a Galicia without hope.

He chose to tilt at windmills, to the eternal glory of other foolish men,
And left you to silently fight the real, inglorious daily battle for survival alone.
Struggling with a bad heart, he worked diligently to promote a better, more just
Future while largely ignoring the practical reality of your painful present.

He filled you with children and built himself the cross upon which he was
Crucified, one word at a time, leaving you to pick up the pieces of his shattered
Idealism. But you survived, and thrived, without sacrificing your own strong
Principles or allowing your children to know hardships other than those of honest work.

And you never lost your sense of humor. You never took anything or
Anyone too seriously. When faced with the absurdity of life,
You chose to smile or laugh out loud. I saw you shed many tears of laughter,
But not once tears of pain, sorrow or regret. You would never be a victim.

You loved people. Yours was an irreverent sense of humor, full of gentle irony,
And wisdom. You loved to laugh at yourself and at others, especially pompous fools
Who often missed your great amusement at their expense, failing to understand your Dismissal, delivered always with a smile, a gentle voice and sparkling eyes.

Your cataracts and near sightedness made it difficult for you to read,
But you read voraciously nonetheless, and loved to write long letters to loved ones and friends. You were a wise old woman, the wisest and strongest I will ever know,
But one with the heart of a child and the soul of an angel.

You were the most sane, most rational, most well adjusted human being
I have ever known. You were mischievous, but incapable of malice.
You were adventurous, never afraid to try or to learn anything new.
You were fun-loving, interesting, kind, rambunctious, funny and smart as hell.

You would have been an early adopter of all modern technology, had you lived long
Enough, and would have loved playing—and working—with all of my electronic
Toys. You would have been a terror with a word processor, email, and social media
And would have loved my video games—and beaten me at every one of them.

We were great friends and playmates throughout most of my life.  You followed
Us here soon after we immigrated in 1967, leaving behind 20 other Grandchildren.
I never understood the full measure of that sacrifice, or the love that made it
Bearable for you. I do now. Too late. It is one of the greatest regrets of my life.

We played board games, cowboys and Indians, raced electric cars, flipped
Baseball cards and played thousands of hands of cards together. It never
Occurred to me that you were the least bit unusual in any way. I loved you
Dearly but never went far out of my way to show it. That too, I learned too late.

After moving to Buenos Aires, when mom had earned enough money to take
You and her younger brothers there, the quota system then in place made it
Impossible to send for your two youngest children, whose care you entrusted
Temporarily to your eldest married daughter, Maria.  

You wanted them with you. Knowing no better, you went to see Evita Peron for help.
Unsurprisingly, you could not get through her gatekeepers.  But you were
Nothing if not persistent. You knew she left early every morning for her office.
And you parked yourself there at 6:00 a.m., for many, many days by her driveway.  

Eventually, she had her driver stop and motioned for you to approach.
“Grandmother, why do you wave at me every morning when I leave for work?”
She asked. You explained about your children in Spain. She took pity and scribbled a
Pass on her card to admit you to her office the next day.

You met her there  and she assured you that a visa would be forthcoming;
When she learned that you made a living by cleaning homes and washing clothing,
She offered you a sewing machine and training to become a seamstress.
You thanked her but declined the offer.

“Give the sewing machine to another mother with no trade. My strong back and hands
Serve me well enough and I do just fine, as I have always done.”
Evita must have been impressed for she asked you to see her yet again when the
Children had arrived in Buenos Aires, giving you another pass. You said you would.

You kept your word, as always. And Evita granted you another brief audience,
Met your two youngest sons (José and Emilio) and shared hot chocolate and
Biscuits with the three of you. You disliked and always criticized Peron and the Peronistas,
But you never forgot Evita’s kindness and defended her all your life.

You were gone too quickly. I had not said “I love” you in years. I was too busy,
With school and other equally meaningless things to keep in touch. You
Passed away without my being there. Mom had to travel by herself to your
Bedside for an extended stay. The last time I wrote you I had sent you a picture.

It was from my law school graduation.
You carried it in your coat pocket before the stroke.
As always, you loved me, with all of my faults that made me
Unworthy of your love.

I knew the moment that you died. I awoke from a deep sleep to see a huge
White bird of human size atop my desk across from my bed. It opened huge
Wings and flew towards me and passed through me as I shuddered.
I knew then that you were gone. I cried, and prayed for you.

Mom called early the next day with the news that you had passed. She also
Told me much, much later that you had been in a coma for some time but that
You awoke, turned to her without recognizing her, and told her that you were going to
Visit your grandson in New York. Then you fell asleep for one last time.

I miss you every day.

[   To hear a YouTube reading of this poem in its entirety, you can visit the following URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OX6w1Pwe7gI   ]

MAY God be praised for woman
That gives up all her mind,
A man may find in no man
A friendship of her kind
That covers all he has brought
As with her flesh and bone,
Nor quarrels with a thought
Because it is not her own.
Though pedantry denies,
It's plain the Bible means
That Solomon grew wise
While talking with his queens.
Yet never could, although
They say he counted grass,
Count all the praises due
When Sheba was his lass,
When she the iron wrought, or
When from the smithy fire
It shuddered in the water:
Harshness of their desire
That made them stretch and yawn,
pleasure that comes with sleep,
Shudder that made them one.
What else He give or keep
God grant me -- no, not here,
For I am not so bold
To hope a thing so dear
Now I am growing old,
But when, if the tale's true,
The Pestle of the moon
That pounds up all anew
Brings me to birth again --
To find what once I had
And know what once I have known,
Until I am driven mad,
Sleep driven from my bed.
By tenderness and care.
pity, an aching head,
Gnashing of teeth, despair;
And all because of some one
perverse creature of chance,
And live like Solomon
That Sheba led a dance.

There was a brief moment where life itself skipped a beat,
It was as if the entire universe took a deep breath;
before continuing on its course to almost certain defeat
And in that moment everything shifted
Imperceptibly, to a new heading.

Afterwards, even as the infinite variations on reality
shuddered through time and space
My vision dimmed, a flicker of existential panic;
and the only hint of the act taking place.

This tiny vibration, a tremor
Like the warm fraction of a shadow of a breath,
hanging for a second after someone leaves the room
Plays itself as fleeting phantoms of possiblities.
And then she blinks.

The worst part of this is the knowledge I deny.
The sick, surrending self to circumstance is the real me,
the one who always was inclined to play with fire.
I know what she is capable of, despite what I see;

The pure kinetic force of her power over me
Leaves fractured pieces and frayed edges in my head
And I've known all along I'm out of my league
A predator grin hides behind her shy smile
Words come out wrong like promises from the dead
And my shame is knowing and denying so

It doesn't stop me playing her game of trust and lies
Because in a joke of a destiny I was meant for this.
She is the widow spider, demons in her lustful eyes
Aware of the ending scene, still I greet the execution,
Helpless and mute as if it was my first sunrise.

And in her own way she is something worse
than the darkness inside her, destroying the used
In the chaos of the pleasure it brings her,
She becomes a collapsing angel, tainted and confused

The store had been closed for a month or more,
The Receivers opened the door,
To auction off all the fittings there,
Whatever stood on the floor,
There were counters, mirrors, plenty of stock,
The tills and the ******* bins,
It was all going under the hammer,
Even a line of mannequins.

When John McRogers happened to pass
He heard the clamour inside,
He peered on in through the window glass
And he watched the human tide,
The bids were coming from everywhere
From phones, and spread through the store,
So he wandered into the human mass
And made his way from the door.

He wandered along the vacant aisles
Saw everything piled in heaps,
There wasn’t much of a bidding war
So everything went quite cheap,
He wondered if he should make a bid
Was there anything there for him?
His eyes then came to rest on a girl,
A fabulous mannequin.

She stood in a line of eight or nine
But caught his eye from the start,
He thought that she had the bluest eyes
Of all, and she stood apart!
She must have been all of six foot six
With a tapering line to the waist,
And ******* of promise and silken legs
A woman of style and taste.

He put in a nervous bid when she
Was auctioned along the line,
But nobody put in a counter bid,
And he thought to himself, ‘She’s mine!’
He had a courier pick her up
And take her straight to his home,
Then stood her up in his office, where
He could savour her there, alone.

She hadn’t a scrap of clothing on
They’d taken it off when she went,
He tried to avert his eyes, she showed
No sign of embarrassment,
Her hands hung limply down at her side
No effort to cover up,
But her eyes had followed him round the room,
Whenever he’d start, or stop.

‘I’m going to call you Jennifer,’
He said to himself, out loud,
Then sensed she shuddered and straightened up
In a movement that seemed quite proud,
His wife had left him the year before
For a keeper, down at the zoo,
So now he said, and in fact he swore,
‘I only have eyes for you!’

‘I only have eyes for you, my dear,
My Jennifer from Le Trée,
I’ll always cherish you near me here
When I work out here, all day,
We’ll spend our evenings here in the warm
With a single desk-top light,
And in the gloom of this little room
You might even come to life!’

He left her naked, stood by his desk,
She had an ****** air,
The wig she wore flowed over her back
Brunette, but the lights were fair,
He worked each night at his desk in gloom
Lit only by one small stand,
And every now and again he’d rouse,
Reach over and touch her hand.

The hand was cold, plastic and hard
And it couldn’t return a thing,
Until one night, he opened a box
And slipped on a wedding ring,
He worked away for an hour or so
Til he’d filled out a batch of forms,
Then reached unconsciously out for her hand
To find it was soft and warm.

He looked up into her shining face
And noticed, to his surprise,
Her cheeks had softened, her lips were red
And a lovelight shone from her eyes,
He stood and reached for her willing form
And she did what he wanted to,
But an urgent message tugged at his brain,
‘I only have eyes for you!’

‘I only have eyes for you,’ she thought
And beamed that into his head,
He never would leave that office again,
His friends soon thought he was dead.
They came in force, broke into his house
And found that he’d really gone,
‘There’s only a couple of mannequins here,
But one of them looks like John!’

David Lewis Paget

The day he died
The sun rose just the way
It always did on cold December mornings:
Frost crystals on his back,
Breath steaming in the winter air,
A few sparrows chattering,
Molly at the barn mooing news:
Milking time!
Frozen water tank!
Hunger pains!
And where was Farmer now?

So he yawned and stretched himself,
Looked at the house whose walls
Allowed his master's voice to filter through thin, cold air:
Heard an oven door squeak wide,
The telephone ring,
Morning voices and the creak of floors,
And then the door cracked open.

Full scents emerged:
Fresh baking from the oven,
The farmer's coat and boots,
Laundry soap in fresh washed jeans,
And a bowl of food with milk
Steaming for him.

The diesel tractor coughed and roared,
Semi-warm from its head-bolt heater sleep,
and sent thick cloud plumes to winter sky
Before the engine warmed enough to move
The wheels' crunching pressure, packing snow.

Breakfast down, and morning chores to follow,
The St. Bernard stretched himself,
Pushed through the old iron gate
And followed in the tractor's track
To see the morning feeding in the snow.

No one could tell him he was getting old,
And maybe was a little stiff and slow
To follow tractors as they plowed their way
Through newly fallen snow.

An hour later, the man, the tractor and the dog
Had made their way below the farmstead hill
To feed a sheltered herd just out of wind's cold way.
What happened next is painful still to say.

The tires sank through crusted snow and spun
But forward movement failed it in its rounds;
Reversed, a chain came loose and outward flung
to pull the faithful follower down.

So what is there to say about a friend whose harm
And death came accidentally at my hand?
I knelt there in the snow and held him in my arms,
Sobbing sorrows... begging him to try to stand.

But he only looked up at me with brown, sad eyes,
Hard broken from the crushing of the wheel,
And moved his tail a little bit to show he was content
To lie there in my arms, and shuddered once and then was still.

The cows looked on impatiently,
Steam rising from their hides,
And saw me bawling on my knees
and begging mercy from my silent God.

They let me in the room with her and I walked without meaning to walk. It was bright with big windows covering the opposite wall looking out onto grass and a bed at a right angle to the light so that lying there she rested her chin on her left shoulder to gaze out and had to roll her head rightwards to see who came in. Walking as I was she got bigger and I started to feel her fear and only then did I realise that I was absolutely terrified and had been for a long time though I can’t say when it started. The room smelled sterile and smelled like a room you shouldn’t leave. It made you want to run but made you feel like you absolutely couldn’t; she wanted to run but politeness kept her sane.

She looked at me and it felt like when we met at a station or arrived by taxi and hadn’t seen each other in a while. Except this time we had seen each other but wouldn’t see each other for a while yet. Her eyes were filled with tears and she had a smile like she was happy and proud and surprised in her happiness but glad, and that it was all too much to bear. ‘Hi.’ her voice was stronger than I thought and I knew that I loved how she could be so full of emotion but still function and not collapse.

I couldn’t say anything but patted her with my hand. We both cried quietly. I started to feel I should be doing more and I wanted to tell her but now it all seemed lame and wrong and stupid. So I told her I loved her and I felt I was saying it to be strong and make her feel safe but of course I didn’t feel safe and I heard it as a squeak and more air than sound. I wanted her to say it and she did and her face was still proud but now also concerned but concerned for me and how I was and in a moment all this love turned to hate and then all I felt was shame that I would make her worry for anyone but herself and then blame her for it. It couldn’t end like this so I started to tell her and at first I fumbled and had to keep starting over but then I forgot where we were and even that she was there and I just felt what I wanted to feel and before I knew it I had said it.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll cremate you. You’ll be ash. And… well ash is a great fertiliser. After a volcano the land regrows and the crops are full, for years they’re full. So I’ll take you, and--- remember when we went to the garden centre? You said we should get lilies and I said we would and I haven’t. Well I’ll buy some and I’ll take you… I’ll take you…and I’ll plant them and mix you in with the soil. I’ll mix you up with the soil and I’ll plant them and they’ll grow and… you’ll be in them. And I’ll look out and see them growing and know that you’re in them. And when they’re big I’ll pick them and smell them and put them in vases all around the house and I’ll always be with you. Because I love you so much. And you have to know that. I love you so much and I might meet someone but it won’t mean anything because they aren’t you, do you hear me? I will always think about you because you are my heart and you always will be. Do you understand? You have to know that because I’d want to know that, desperately; that not for a second will you be less important to me than you are right now.’

Only then I saw that whilst she was touched and she nodded and her face filled with yet more pride it was all show this time and maybe always had been and really she was just scared. I knew then that she was really only grateful that I cared so much to need her and that she didn’t really care if she was a plant and that was fine with me.

By the time the footsteps came we had fallen onto each other and were kissing clumsily because we were too busy crying but we were smiling with this painful relief that we weren't acting strong anymore when we weren't. And I had begun to feel excitement for some reason that this would all be over soon and I could go back although things would never really go back of course. But now this felt right and I was glad that I had told her.

The nurse came in the needle went in and she was gone. I saw I was walking and in the corridor and the moment I saw I fell in a stumble against the wall and slid and couldn’t feel a thing for all the shaking. I shook on the floor and wept and shuddered in sobs and no why did I leave I didn’t want to leave yet I wanted to be there with her but I can’t now she’s gone.

I looked around dumbly as people saw but couldn’t give what they thought they should because they were embarrassed or busy feeling. And I looked around for the family I knew wasn’t there because my family had been in that bed and now had faded along with my heart. I was sharp breathing and strange noises and that was everything for a while until someone helped me up and walked me around until I took my body back and walked to my car and went home and stared blankly at a door and remembered I’d forgotten something and went back to the car again to get lilies.

corinth picked up the ball and tossed it up into the air as high as he possibly could. the energy it took for him to do so left him gasping and his muscles stung a little, but to watch the ball arc high above the sky, black against blue, was worth it. when the ball started to sink back down, he ran after it, bumping past athens who had been watching mere inches away.

the enclosure was a backyard to a white building surrounded by concrete walls that cut open hands when rubbed too hard or when scuffles turned sour. in the corner, there was a patch of green grass. the rest was stained yellow from lack of water or from too much sun.

sparta sat in the dust, his hands red with dirt and blood. the stains wrapped around his fingers and wrists and spiraled up to his elbows. he rubbed the pads of his fingers along the dirt, picking up small twigs and stones along the way, as he drew circles around the bird. the bird was dead, long dead, but its brown and grey feathers still stayed in its skin most of the time and the blood was drying so sparta’s hands wouldn’t be red for too much longer. the cracks of flaking blood opened like wounds on small boy's hands: palms big for holding bigger hands and fingers short to keep everything close. sparrow feathers and tears smeared comets into the dust while he cried for his mama even though his mama never came.

corinth ran after the ball, his breath short and his face glowing pink from exertion. as he ran, his hand running along the concrete wall, he started coughing. catching up with the ball started the initial coughing fit that turned into a rattler. he held his hand against the wall, clinging to it with white knuckles, as he hunched over to cough and cough so hard he could feel his throat start to stretch ragged, could feel lunch starting to come up. athens kicked corinth's foot gently before backing away a few feet while corinth continued to cough. when corinth's lungs and throat settled, he stood up straight, grabbed the ball, and threw it up again, this time out of anger rather than play. the ball went sailing backward and athens ran in order to try and get to the ball first, having had a head start. corinth was still faster and managed to shove athens away with a rogue elbow to the ribs in order to claim the ball again. athens didn't argue against the bone.

play continued until the sirens sounded. sparta stopped crying, corinth dropped the ball, and athens picked it up. all three of them hurried quickly and clumsily inside the bunker, shutting the door behind them. as they crawled down the narrow passageway, sparta started to hiccup, a leftover symptom of crying. corinth stopped and glared, and sparta murmured an apology before wiping his sniffles away with the sleeve of his shirt. corinth led the way until the three boys dropped inside the hollowed out room. it was round and the walls were mixtures of concrete, dirt, and chalk drawings. they each had to hunch, especially athens, as the ceiling

they sat in a practiced circle around the center of the room. after a few moments of quiet, hushed breathing, athens began the processions.

“we all here?”

the other two boys raised their hands. sparta’s fingers trembled while corinth raised his arm as high as it could possibly go. his ******* scraped against the ceiling in his earnestness. the three then began the tradition discussion of their names. sparta, forgetting conduct, almost gave away corinth's name, but corinth shut him up quickly. sparta apologized quickly and shoved his fingers in his mouth to keep from saying anything more. dirt and blood mixed with saliva in his mouth, and as he swallowed he ended up choking and gagging on the combination. he coughed and coughed, and corinth slapped him on the back. it didn't help, and the more sparta tried to stop coughing, the harder it lasted. eventually, he had to turn and face away from the other boys as hot bile slid up his throat and onto the floor with a small splat. athens grimaced and edged away.

"alright… show your lungs. everyone."

all three boys began the process of reaching under their shirts and pressing the smooth button under their ribs that unlocked the hatch. the hatch was a small door that ran from the bottom of their ribs up to their collar bone. when they found the smooth button, no bigger than the pad of their thumb, then a small click allowed them to open up their skin. underneath their torsos was a small plastic box that kept everything inside. it helped protect their bones, their heart, and, especially, their lungs. their lungs were frequent targets for doctors; they needed to be accessed quickly. fewer and fewer doctors came by to see the boys recently. corinth wiggled his shirt until he could shove most of it into his mouth, opening his body up and showing gray and green lungs that expanded and collapsed with every breath. his lungs were swollen behind his rib cage, and he experimentally reached in to poke in between his third and fourth ribs. the muscle that was there had been replaced by plastic, and had come loose when he'd pressed the button. his lung shuddered underneath his touch, but he felt the odd relief of pain swoop over him. two blue shirts tumbled to the floor as sparta and athens decided to take off their clothing and help each other find the buttons to unlock their hatches. the boys clung to the small moments of touch when the effects of their touh felt so alien, even after all those years after the surgery.

athens’ lungs were pink and perfect. he coughed and corinth couldn’t help but watch the way his diaphragm moved as he did so, and he felt jealousy pang in his stomach. sparta’s lungs were purple and blue, bruised and small, and they merely fluttered.

“lungs in order,” athens said quietly after a quick inspection of everyone’s insides. sparta immediately closed his hatch, flinching when his finger got caught initially between his inside and his outside, and started to put his shirt back on. corinth stole athens' shirt and slipped it on over the one he currently wore, his other hand slamming shut his lung hatch. athens blinked but let corinth stare at him greedily as he quietly shut his own hatch.

as they waited for the background noise of wailing sirens to disappear, corinth hugged his knees and athens started to draw people in the dirt with his forefinger.

On my bed night after night I
sought him who my soul loves, I sought him
but did not find him...

I sought this morning
a handful of domestic tools.
I raked, I shoveled, I let fly
a gust from my mighty
two-stroke gas blower, which
shuddered to death in my hands,
before all of the leaves reached
the end of the ******* driveway.

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem
that you do not awake my love until
the motor has had a chance to cool off,
or you might flood the engine.

David was anointed with the
oil of myrrh and cassia. My wrists
are caked in Havoline from
1998. Solomon ate banquets,
loved Sheba, three hundred
concubines and boats of perfumed wood.

Ramen at lunchtime. Sixty yards of two-by-fours.

If I never resemble a king,
let me sup of television dinners
let me work my hands in the valleys
of a clogged fuel line, let my bed
fill with the twin odalisques of
leisure reading and ***** sheets,
and give me never three hundred concubines.

And if I go about the city at night,
pleading with the watchmen, have they seen
she who my soul loves, let them answer:
"There."

The driveway is clean, now,
all the leaves left at the end to rot,
or be swept away.

Luna is a silent world,
a wasteland of sere beauty.
It’s “seas” are dust and waterless;
Rainfall? Zero, absolutely!

In this place where birds don’t sing
and nothing green can grow.
We built the Armstrong Geodome,
in secret, years ago.

Here, on the “dark” side of the moon,
in a Mare without a name.,
a climate controlled paradise
was built, and workers came.

Some were miners, strong and buff
who search for this world’s gold.
Some are research scientists
one hundred fifty men, all told.

In Twenty Forty Seven
all hell broke loose on Earth
There were nuclear exchanges
and what followed next was worse.

A winter like none other;
we listened, helpless, as they died.
Starvation is the cruelest fate
for any mother’s child.

One by one they all fell silent,
the great cities of that Orb.
Deaths occurred in magnitudes
the human mind can not absorb.

We struggled, yes, but we survived
without the ships from home.
One Hundred fifty adult males,
like the mariners of old.

We mourned the Loves we’d left behind,
We shuddered at their fate.
Our Refuge was our prison;
We lived deprived of child or mate.

The streets of Armstrong are always clean
as cleaning bots are on patrol.
but here no children laugh or play,
it’s a town without a soul.

Two decades we spent in that place
then came the words for which we yearned:
Atmospheric radioactivity
to safe levels had returned.

I was on the first ship home
to San Francisco Bay.
The landmarks all were flattened
The Golden Gate in ruins lay.

We mortals wept, I will not lie
Our cradle had become our grave;
The streets of home were silent,
there was no one left to save.

Terra is a silent world,
a wasteland of sere beauty.
It’s “seas” are toxic, lifeless now;
Children? Zero, absolutely!

In the black of night,
one winter long ago,
the bones spoke to me
from their perch upon
a tomb.
Creaking in the cold,
and shining brightly by
the light of the moon.

“Come and speak,”
they called, but the voice
was only an echo.

I stepped forward
in the crackling snow, and
the bones leaned forth.

“It’s grown cold, and
we are lonely,” they said.

“Who are you?”

“We are the Dead,”
they replied.

Silence stretched out
across the graveyard
and snow began to wander lazily
from the heavens.

It gathered on the bones,
who did not move.
They peered down to me,
empty sockets where eyes once sat,
then dried to dust.

“What need do the dead have of visitors?”
I asked.

The skull cocked to one side,
and the gathered snow slid
from its gleaming dome.

“The Dead need and want
all those things which have
long lost meaning to the Living.
We have as much right to company,
and twice the need.  
The cold earth is also
dark, and silent.
It is there the Dead go mad.”

The snow tumbled down,
another layer upon another,
and neither of us stirred.

I watched a trickle of blood
flow from a socket of the skull,
sliding down to color its teeth
a dark crimson.

A single drop fell
from its mouth,
impacting upon the snow
at the foot of the tomb.

The dark red stain
spread across the snow
of the yard,
turning it to
a tundra of blood.

The gravestones stood high
above the bloodied freeze,
and high above them all
stood the tomb.
Sitting there,
the gleaming, bleeding,
grinning bones.

“It is there the Dead go mad,”
they repeated.

The insane screams of a thousand dead souls
pierced the silence of the night,
and the tombstones crumbled
into the snow.

The ground swelled
as if turned to a vengeful red sea,
and spat the bodies below to the surface.
A mass of bone, flesh
and dirt replaced the
snow around me.

The bones above gazed out
upon the carnage,
jaw agape.

Screaming.

Louder than ever,
unmuffled by the earth,
the bodies of the dead shrieked to the heavens.

The gray winter clouds above
turned to soot
and fell from the sky.
The full moon burst into view,
casting its cold glare
upon the horror.

The Dead writhed and shrieked,
bony fingers and heels digging
at the ground around them.
Rotting flesh fell from muscle,
muscle fell from bone.

From atop the tomb,
the bones turned back
to me, screaming
“IT IS THERE THE DEAD GO MAAAAAAD!”

The skeleton burst into dust
and rained down upon me.

And the screaming ceased.

Slowly, slowly,
the writhing bodies
grew still.

Their eyes,
cold and bright,
stared wide at the sky above.
My ears rang with their screams.
I shuddered.

The bodies recessed
back into the earth.

Soot rose back to the heavens
to cover their watchful eye.

Looking back to the tomb,
I saw the bones returned
to their perch.

But now they gazed upon me
with my own eyes.

“It is here,” they said.

And I could not look away.

“The Dead go mad,”
I answered.

The Vanishing

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the ******, excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.

"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!"

They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
"He was always a desperate wag!"
They beheld him--their Baker--their hero unnamed--
On the top of a neighbouring crag,

***** and sublime, for one moment of time,
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.

"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words "It's a Boo--"

Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like "--jum!" but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.

They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.

In the midst of the word he was trying to say
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away--
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.

‘We must have entered the Latter Days
For the Moon has broken in two,’
Said Paul Maresh in the month of May
Of Twenty Twenty-two,
‘I said they shouldn’t be mining it
And drilling through to its core,
For now the Russians claim half of it
And the States have gone to war.’

‘That nuclear bomb on Ohio left
A crater, big as a lake,
And I heard that Lake Ontario
Has flooded New York State,
The world is shifting allegiances
So we don’t know where we are,
Since the Internet has crashed and burned
With my friends, both near and far.’

He went to the old style UHF
That he kept in his father’s shed,
Checked that the aerials were up
And the generator fed,
For the power had gone for the second time
And they said, it won’t be back,
With the power station the target in
That first, but brief attack.

He switched on channel 11 then,
Hoping to hear her voice,
Through shifting, drifting frequencies
He sat there, calling Joyce,
But all he got was a wailing call
To prayer, from a Dervish man,
Sent out to all of the faithful from
Some place in Pakistan.

He checked through all of the channels that
They’d used, back there in the past,
But mostly got a cracklng sound
From the swirling, nuclear ash,
His sister Joyce, having flown on out
To the States in the month before,
He thought was missing in Florida,
In the first week of the war.

Then a voice came through on channel three
That was lost, and fraught with pain,
‘Is that the Paul Maresh I met
In June, on the Sydney train?’
His mind went back to the smiling girl
With the drawn out Texas drawl,
Who’d chatted, stolen his heart away
With her laughed, ‘Be seein’ Y’all!’

They’d kept in touch on the Internet
And she said she was coming back,
Preparing to give their love a fling
On some great Australian track.
But then the world had shuddered with
That first American bomb,
So now, as frequencies swirled, he said,
‘Where are you calling from?’

He thought that she said from ‘Boston’, though
A crackle had interfered,
Maybe the word was ‘Austin’ back
In Texas, that he’d heard,
But then her voice was carried away
In a trans-pacific hum,
And the last few words he heard, she said
‘I really love you, ***!’

Part of the Moon has crashed to earth
In the Gulf of Mexico,
With Texas drowned in a sea of mud
And the earth’s rotation slowed,
But Paul Maresh in the Aussie Bush
Is clamped to the UHF,
Looking for Joyce and Linda if
It takes him his final breath.

David Lewis Paget

Sitting in that bar, with you,
two single ladies on the prowl,
we fell for the same guy,
a ****, long-haired Adonis
and we flirted with him shamelessly
until finally you turned to me and whispered
shall we take him home with us?
And so we did...

In moonshadows, we undressed him
together, and then I undressed you,
watched those two lovely ******* descend
from their cage, watched your eyes widen
with lust and amazement, the shudder
of your thighs as I slipped your ******* down
and knelt before you to press my lips
against your soft mound, lapping at your nectar.

When the soft ******* sigh released from your lips,
I turned to the Adonis and offered you to him,
watched as he lifted you in his strong arms
and lowered you onto his throbbing ****.
You beckoned for me to join you
and I couldn't resist your charm.
As he gently laid you down on the couch,
your legs spread into the air,
his body slamming into you, I ****** gently
on your ripe perked *******.
When his body shuddered into ******
and he withdrew, I slid down to the floor
pressed my lips against your netherlips
and drank of your sweet nectar mingled with his.

Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.

The lady's large legs
shuddered, spreading
-becoming broader-
as tears treaded
descending down
corpulent cheeks and chins
(like a rill running from
narrow eyes undulating upward)

She laughed... Oh joy!
this wonderful woman
seated shaking on her small stool
hardly holding in
chortles of cheer
palms on her plump potbelly
erupting with euphoria
as her heavy heart hurt heaving
boiling blood battling
plaque packed into
every artery to
locate luscious lips that laughed loving life.

I cultivated something under the snow
Sewed it deep to watch it grow
I felt the roots take and the warmth on my face
Resonating from the hearts I had froze

I shuddered against the intense heat
Battling my soul within a heartbeat
The seconds pass but the moments last
As the past slowly puts me to sleep

And of what should I dream but the bloodless seeds
And their chilled heartbeat from underneath
The silence sweeps as I wake and weep
And reflect, I respect that I cut too deep
And your demons escaped
But in my defense, recompense was achieved,
You did bleed, but never believed in Band-Aid
And every hand laid against you was desired
You're hardwired for self-defeat

I crush myself amidst my own callous hate
Bringing to light a dreadful new fate
With scars that burn and the images they create
Collapsing, falling under the massive weight
And suddenly you surround me
Making it difficult to breathe
But all the lies you never did believe
A layer of doubt hidden beneath
Typically speaking, you never say what you mean

Like pomegranate, grapefruit fizzy sodas, my life fizzed.
with purpose, with creativity - invigorating -
like pomegranate passionfruit sweet tea lemonade,
passion swept my senses - flooded every corner of my being
until I shuddered, utterly shocked out of my monotonous shell,
shoved into a near obsession - a love only a sweet coffee with chocolate in the morning could bring - followed by a slice of iced lemon pound cake -  exhilarating.
Like pomegranate tomatillo i don't even know what -
new discoveries of the depths of my devotion continue to surprise me - delicious.
Like a pomegranate flavor packed mango tango, a dance with the devil ensued, drifting between the dancefloors of reality and fiction;

my days, my dreams, my everything

                                 Filled with thoughts of Ultimate.

At night! I am not a thought
Over the infamous sunlight;
But rather one with heightened breath,
A creature like all beings,
I hath life and sometimes death.

At night! What a solitary life
That I oft' bathe myself in blood;
It hath a romantic smell to touch
And fantasies on its very own,
Like the world around is torn
When I drink it, when I taste it.

At night! What a succulent sight
And dried livelihood, such might
Who may think of such grandeur
In the afternoon's bad odour?
The night presents to me a lovely light
To hunt and race towards the night.

At night! What a lovely lace
And fierce sigh to embrace;
Unlike those held stiffly in breath
I am at all in no fear of death,
And there, a thousand skies
Shall not watch my shaky lies?

At night! What a cold showdown
As I float in midair in town;
Every piece of flesh is tempting,
Now that my thirst is seeping
Through the dire brass of my lungs,
That I know not between us.

At night! What a sacred taste
Of one's opened flesh;
I am as violent as Desire itself,
And trembling as 'tis troubled night.
What if I cannot love, nor hear myself
That I can see the Light?

At night! What a bare heaven
Up there, that hath opened;
But again, 'tis committed to poor souls
And t'ose alive only, unlike me
I shall not breathe, nor be old;
Nor shall my stale beauty

At night! What a loneliness
A story, and yet a broken sadness
I shall wander to dusk and dust;
And pain myself with roaming lust
Shall I be the human, and again
I cannot flirt with the earth's rain.

At night! What a tasteless breath
The very end that feels like death;
When one ain't ill, and just no;
I cannot be here until tomorrow
I had love then, but 'tis now death
An apparition I hath not had

At night! What a wordless call
And yet I hath no longer words;
My lover, my human lover
Then, he died of my cold hunger
I hath been placed in my own hell;
And cannot fake such tears so well

At night! What a wondrous sight
Sitting in mercy by the rainbow;
Ah, my love, who was once in fright
Old as his human self by the window
And I, was not born to see the light
And he died, I could not know.

At night! What a clueless moon
And a rabid but endless tune;
And the cloud, but cannot speak
Although I wish to ask he sea
Within the reserved, but pretty week
To sail my lover back into me

At night! What a tireless roam
And I cannot stop even by my poem;
To devour such a long life
And hurt that may be tough,
Miseries that may be naive
Tears that may not be enough.

At night! What a severed sight
I hath, that I cannot fly right
Who saith I shall need such wings
That shall not read, nor sing?
I might just turn human by then;
Joining my love in death again.

At night! What a sturdy light
That awaits me behind the grass,
Satisfying me the whole night
And gone as more days pass
What is good, and what is rigid
Who shall come to me again, merry meet?

At night! What a buoyant step
And I may put again my cape;
I may not be late, but too sweetly
I hath to seek more life for me;
I may not die, but to die reverently;
For him, I shall dream for free

At night! What a childish touch
But there is no more time to watch,
I kneel down and sip hungrily
At the heartbeat dying down by me;
T'is time, 'tis of a village *****
Hastily split by her brown bench.

At night! What a cold April
And who knows what summer feels;
I might lay about to seek some idyll,
While the skies but a flamed torch
To read riddles of the far North,
And drink my heap, my Lord.

At night! What a sweet sick dream
To my lost love, my limb
I like to writ all in a poem,
And drink of love in my room
What is better than love, my life?
What is sweeter to kiss, my lips?

At night! What a shuddered rose
And a catchy, stunned prose
But I may not be a true lover;
A truth, that one always hides
After the setting sun, the thin nights
Who shall craft myself an ode?

At night! What a shimmered thought
That I had remembered about you,
About a song I knew was true
And we embraced, while seeing
The night was already looking;
And hark! The sour stars finally cheering.

At night! What a blundering smile
And hastened sweat of love,
A shyness that never leaves me
And my cheeks, my beauty;
I can rest here, and for a while
I think I can leave my everything.

At night! What a blushed cheek,
For love is so soft, so meek;
For my love is held in midair,
Given but treated so unfair,
I am gasping for some fresh air,
But shan't cry, nor care

At night! What a young heartbeat,
But again, 'tis not mine;
For human blood is always a cure,
Although cold, minuscule, and unsure
I hath no care what 'tis all about
My hunger is there, and frets too loud.

At night! What an insane bird,
And so shockingly treacherous;
O my love, should I vouch for thee still,
And be kind, whilst all stands still;
But again, 'tis as chilly for my poetry,
For there is no life for one like me.

At night! What a rigid flute,
That is flamboyantly blown still,
I may not be by the long route,
But I love you, and want you still,
The thought of humans make me sick;
But without such breath I am so weak;

At night! What a lifeless sun,
Celebrated by all inhumans;
I am nobody that one wants,
I neither lighten nor illuminate,
And I do not appear in one's dream,
I am a devil, and not as I seem;

At night! What a poet, and poetry;
A poetry wearing a black veil,
And is read out of the doors,
I hath written strongly across the moors,
I hath been invited by such discourse
And troubled itches, troubled sights.

At night! What a vast suburban,
On the outskirts of my last town;
And I have to move, yet, I do,
Although I am a recent and new,
And to be with the morn, too vague;
I am afraid I shall be too late.

At night! What an edgeless voyage
That has come of life, of age;
A stellar one as I go again
In search of new vinegar and friends,
And who says a vampire has much to make
Whilst 'tis all for their crude sake?

At night! What a holy night;
And sounds ring and sing about me,
Those of bloodied hearts none shall see,
And I coldly devour again before the dawn;
And be asleep in the afternoon,
To wake up to the solitary moon.

At night! What a clouded light;
And voices entrap me in unison,
Throwing about new destinations;
In which my rough food shall satisfy me
And intensify my rugged beauty,
As I have no halos under the sun.

At night! What a trembling sigh;
But to me all skies are not too high,
And heights shall ask me to play,
Basking my life in the glory of those days.
And who is the sun, to seep into me,
I am dead, just like I was meant to be.

At night! What a coloured weep,
Of everyone in their drowned sleep,
But who says a sleep is peaceful,
Alight in hell, and be healed painful;
And be astonished for days after,
Feeling like life in short is forever.

At night! What an adorned heart
Whose one can cheer from afar;
But to humans, love may be distant
So soon as there rises a new moment;
I, who cannot feel tinges of emotion
And its cursed, fatal passions.

At night! What a demure feel
That one may just fall ill,
For neither I nor they have shared passion;
My life is too full of temptations.
And who should soar into the night -
All love to praise the faint daylight.

At night! What a sanguine wish
That one may just cold kiss,
They wish they couldst do in person
With no reason, no concoction;
But what is a wish not so bright
That we canst only witness in daylight?

At night! What a passioned chest
That should be put to rest,
Hath it undergone too many tests,
Between the East and West,
And the fatality of our hunger,
That feels eternal, and lives forever?

At night! What a loving heat
That I feel all in a single beat;
That I am not cold in cold any more,
That I can see now, unlike before;
To attain such quietness, and peace -
To dream and be alight in midnight bliss.

At night! What a loving heart
That I crave for from miles apart;
And I just know that I love you,
And your eyes, being too human
I knew they would be true,
But could I still see you then?

At night! What a new love;
That was born from the hunt
That none wishes for, nor wants
But I was there, waiting for thee
Behind the furry fir tree
That one hath died, and another
Is born, to bind me forever

At night! What forbidden love;
For 'tis a human again, and madly
I have fallen in love too badly;
In my flights, my giddy travels
I may have fallen too naively
That I cannot stay behind the wheels.

At night! What a love in profusion
Dead then, but not in union
Ah, but 'tis all a story
Not in life, for I do love to tell
That I shall not feel deep, nor sorry
For love hath always been a hell

At night! What a love blooming
For one cannot stop cheering
In silence, like me, hearing
For another love to come, clearing;
That I can turn human, and to heaven
To a faith I should hasten

At night! What a love searing
All hate, all curses, all bearings
And I, a vampire, shall sing my song;
That I hath waited for love too long
But in my eternal life, o dear
Perhaps thou canst ne'er be here

At night! What a love tempting
And I cannot stop laughing
Until I am full of disgraced tears;
And not of untold fears
For fears are not mine, and not hours
We have no death, nor blurred hours

At night! What a love promise
For us to be wise, and kiss
I hath longed to have wedding bliss;
But again, I am not the first
For vampires 'tis all the worst;
I hath only my rhymes, my words!

At night! What a love story
That I canst only feel within me
And to swallow such gurgling tearsl
Wouldst be crowded, be weird
I hath no life to entertain me
Nor a lover to hear my poetry

At night! What a love tale
That I canst only relish in hell;
Perhaps, I am not like one my own,
In exhaust and fumes, I am alone
Under the stars and moon that know
I shall face every day, and tomorrow

At night! What a love kiss
That I dream of, like a butterfly
But all is indeed a tired lie;
In all eternity, hath I been cursed
And in all worlds, hath I hurt
For whose I hath no more words

At night! What a love wish
That I cannot blame mine, nor his
To all wise, that are not wise;
To all whiteness that is a lie
For love hath but been a thief to me
And a harm to my living sanity

At night! What a love charm
That I hath discarded from my arms;
For I cannot feel, nor see you
In growing anything anew,
I hath seen but too few
I cannot have you in my arms.

At night! What a love war
That I hath removed from my tales;
I hath shut myself off of the door
And be the one no-one tells,
Who shall choose not to be alight;
To love with softness and bright?

At night! What a love heart
And a soreness cast away
I hath not seen the night, nor day
And stayed stiff again, today;
I cannot play in the afternoon,
Nor face the loving, dancing moon.

At night! What a love joy
That I hath not to tease,
Nor to pleasantly annoy;
I hath turned to dust, and dust is me
Pale as the armour of my beauty,
Eternal to life, and I can be
Not to love, not to be free.

People told me you were a smoker-
nothing but trouble,
and that you were left overs
from girls who had left because they were
scared
I didn't listen, I just wanted to kiss
away the nicotine, I got withdrawls without
being addicted, and our lips never met
because I kept shoving you away,
you kept reaching for the skin under my
'Fall Out Boy' t-shirt
And you told me that I made you hot,
and I just giggled and said you didn't
need me, you were the hottest guy I had ever seen
but I knew what you meant,
I could feel the desire on your breath
against my neck

you took me to a concert
with the music blaring in my ears, I could
barely hear what you said but I could see
the way your eyes moved and the way that my heart started to sink
when our eyes met
so our sweaty bodies pressed against eachother in time to the music
and I laughed when you sang those songs about love and heartbreak
staring at me, because I didn't realize (I never realized)
that I meant that much to you
(I thought it was always a joke, the way you needed me. I didn't
understand that the music spoke to you about me)

I asked you, still wearing the t-shirt (much to your dismay)
which Fall Out Boy song
could be ours, and as you stared
at the anchor (I asked you to lift your eyes but you wouldn't)
you chose Alone Together, or
was it The Phoenix, I couldn't remember,
but you said I was your phoenix,
and I laughed and compared you to Albus Dumbledore,
but inside I wasn't laughing, because there was
fiery desire in your finger tips,
and I wondered if I really would burst into flames
(or tears, but either way, would I come back to life?)
But I thought it was the coolest thing
that you thought I was **** (like Finn said to Rachel during their
prom king and queen dance)

but inside I stared at you the same way
watching my heart slowly crack because I was never as desirable
as pretty as she could be.
you deserved to be with somone like her,
someone who's body fits perfectly into yours
who would fit right into a magazine photoshoot right beside you
while I took the photographs of the perfect couple..
I put on my best clothes and dressed up hoping to look like sleeping beauty to you
but you laughed at me and asked why I looked so fancy
we were only watching Peter Pan, like we did every friday
(and I was Tinkerbell, because you were too blinded by someone else
to see me)

I remember that I asked you, on a Wednesday
(you pointed out my bracelet and told me it was **** Day,
and winked, and I shuddered inwardly)
why you left the last girl-
and you said because she was a princess
and I was a queen,
and I laughed and threw my arms around your neck
and we kissed and I tasted nicotine, your hands were cold
against my neck.
That was it. That was my wake up call.
I was nothing but a body to you,
my chest and rear were big,
larger than most,
so I shoved you away again, and then turned on my heel,
and said 'you are my ashes, and I have risen out of you',
and then I was gone on my Phoenix Wings.
But that was not the end of it,
because then I visited her, your ex,
and I told her what happened, and let myself cry a little,
and the two of us watched Peter Pan,
and I made a friend, because we had both dated Captain Hook.

I take my coffee black and my sweaters long sleeved, and I walk on weekends down the market lane, with tender hope of seeing her. Today I did.

Now I'm a man of 45, but don't think for one second that I don't remember the way her tiny vein-lined hand grasped my 18 year old shoulder, the way she laughed at how I tensed up, from too much love, or harder memories. I loved the way she laughed, and I shuddered when I heard it as she stood over by the craft stall with a crochet blue scarf wrapped around those same hands. She had grown 42 from years apart, birthday last week, and I'd sat alone and thought of her all day.
I never quite recovered from our three year adolescent romance. It felt more like an Earthquake. I walked through bustling noon-washed streets and traced her soft blonde hair and lithe frame, and I swear I almost felt it on my fingertips again. I should probably have forgotten about her by now, but nobody forgets Earthquakes.

The pavements were lined with people desperately trying to drown her out but she's burnt into my eyes now, and I felt like kicking myself for remembering when I burnt every picture of her in stolen *****. I hated her for about ten minutes. Now I'm 45 and seeing her again has latched a youthful taste in my mouth, and the vivid memory of stained pink cigarette papers from her red lips rolled over me like a tide. I gave up smoking five years ago, I wonder if she ever did. For a moment I lost her in the haze but she was sat in a café alone, looking like she needed someone. 

I thought briefly about sitting beside her and waiting for her eyes to meet mine and glaze over with tears at being reunited with me. And I thought about how she'd tell me how she's been so lonely, and she missed my lips pressed against her neck as if there was a part missing when they weren't. I watched her, and she looked alone. But oh God, she's beautiful. 

The way she sat there lit a bliss inside of me. I watched her, and melted into her mulling gaze, her lips fell open lazily as she observed what was left of the early afternoon rush hour crowds. I decided to sit across the room, just close enough to see the colour in her eyes. I thought some more about how happy she'd be to see me again, leaping out of her seat to greet me, her paper-thin frame clutching to my fleshy torso, and we'd breathe in our scents like we always did. My mind even wandered briefly to her nakedness, protected by bed sheets, as we writhed around beneath them. Her girlish ******* hovering above me, black pupils swelling with unadulterated want. That's what we were like back then. She had no intention of settling down with me, we only squeezed every last bit of adventure out of each other. I found myself continuing to envision her smile entwined with my smile, swallowing down the memory of our bitter, painful departure. I pretended that the last time I saw her wasn't when she slammed her front door in my face, tears blistering her cheeks. I've been pretending for so long, it's like it didn't happen after all.

I observed her all the while, high cheekboned face softly highlighted by the pastel sky of spring outside. This was a quiet café, and I could hear the light tapping of her high heeled foot against the chair leg. She bent down to pick up her handbag and retrieved a pack of blue Mayfair cigarettes and placed them on the table- I suppose that answered my previous question. She sighed heavily, and it then occurred to me that she might be waiting for someone. A friend perhaps, or her sister who always hated me. I'd been watching her for a full ten minutes when her eyes finally met mine. My heart shuddered in its cage and my blood was flowing at such a speed that I didn't notice at first that she wasn't staring at me at all. No, she simply skimmed over me, pupils flickering rapidly, her brain registering me as just another face in the crowd. When I finally noticed this, it was like something inside me had shrivelled up and died. All the hopeful lust, all those years of being consumed by her, I'd been waiting all along for a dull glance. I looked down, and watched my beating heart slide pathetically to the floor and wilt there. 

When I looked up again, I was greeted by the image of her standing to greet a family of two. A man, around my age, tall and skinny with greying hair and thick-rimmed glasses. I watched her slender arms wrap around him, then their lips lock in a disgusting embrace. I couldn't stop the ******* tears from flowing. I looked down again and my heart was having a seizure on the floor, blood oozing from each exhausted vein. 
I paused when I heard the dulcet laughter of the second person. 

A young girl stood, skinny and blonde and heavenly, pale blue eyes gleaming like springtides. With each giggle my mind ached with the image of her mother, spinning in endless circles, her blonde hair wrapping around her neck, and that same laughter in the air. I almost choked when I saw that girl. My eyes exchanged desperate looks between mother and the daughter, the embodiment of whom I loved. With each arduous second my throbbing heartbeat became louder and louder, overshadowing the noise of the customers asking me if I was okay. And she had noticed me too. This time, her eyes met mine with recognition, and her perfect face twisted into an expression of sorrow. She began walking towards me, my whole face turned numb. 

''Sir, are you alright?'' The soft delicacy in her voice rattled my skull and erupted in my brain. I rolled my head back and forth on my folded arms, and my resounding breath caught up in my woollen sleeves drowned out any other sound that wasn't her voice. ''What's your name?'' She asked me. I lifted my head in a daze, and let the wave of blistering unhappiness wash over, and finally crash behind me. The only thing I saw was her daughter. Terrifyingly beautiful, as if the woman stood by my side was sixteen again, and peering at me with total, innocent obliviousness. She was her double. A cut-out photograph gazing at me. And we stared at each other for a while. She was everything to me, and I was nobody. 

''I'm nobody.'' I responded weakly. ''Absolutely nobody.''I'm still trying to decide whether I'm satisfied with this, but I thought I'd post it anyway. I spent an excruciating amount of time trying to decide whether to write this in the format of a letter to the ''woman'' or addressed to some kind of external person(s). Anyway.

He wandered the pages of a languid space
a servant of the abyss
in ghastly fear, he stepped and stumbled
upon my ruins as his heartrace tumbled
down the stairs of the starry abyss
a trajectory of dread
his fingertips painted
of words with heads
letters with legs
and poems of death
on the walls of the abyss
he, of all, the servant of those
who are older than we
shuddered at the noise
of the silence behind
and of what was waiting ahead
narrow paths; alas
servant; alas; were crowded with dread
he wandered the pages of a languid space
where dandelions embraced his uncanny footsteps
and a rebirth, they claimed
he caressed the poems of my demonic despair
what have gotten the servant
to my robotic disgrace
as he escaped the abyss
where my dirges; remained

.
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
.

Rome! what a scroll of History thine has been;
In the first days thy sword republican
Ruled the whole world for many an age’s span:
Then of the peoples wert thou royal Queen,
Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen;
And now upon thy walls the breezes fan
(Ah, city crowned by God, discrowned by man!)
The hated flag of red and white and green.
When was thy glory! when in search for power
Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun,
And the wild nations shuddered at thy rod?
Nay, but thy glory tarried for this hour,
When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One,
The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God.