Love is like
a box of chocolates given
to you by a Nazi war doctor
who has filled
half of them with ground glass.
You may suffer unspeakably;
you may experience
brief gratification.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
We Miss You, Snark
Prose entry to say that I really want Poetry Snark to start posting again. It's been so long.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Book Review For "Intimate Kisses:" The Poetry of Sexual Pleasure
Dickinson but no Donne?
That's no fun.
Congrats, though, to Mr. Mesler,
on erotic use of word "vagina." Clever.
I myself prefer "cunt"
which is easier to rhyme.
That's no fun.
Congrats, though, to Mr. Mesler,
on erotic use of word "vagina." Clever.
I myself prefer "cunt"
which is easier to rhyme.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Ode To Despair
Whence, heart, the journey into the black pit?
The night stretches before me, dark and wild
and flecked with the iron pyrite of futile hope.
My blackbird died tonight.
June swallowed the last shards of me,
now they cut with the dead and frozen sunlight of Oncewas.
I learned solitude at the iron hand of error.
The blue wind blows at the cracked windows
of my garret... the smell of whiskey
drifts up to sting me
from my fingernails.
The blood in my wrists burns to be free.
The heart in my bosom breaks with the weight
of cursed and lonely brilliance.
Tonight, another prostitute.
(This poem was also posted on my LJ.)
The night stretches before me, dark and wild
and flecked with the iron pyrite of futile hope.
My blackbird died tonight.
June swallowed the last shards of me,
now they cut with the dead and frozen sunlight of Oncewas.
I learned solitude at the iron hand of error.
The blue wind blows at the cracked windows
of my garret... the smell of whiskey
drifts up to sting me
from my fingernails.
The blood in my wrists burns to be free.
The heart in my bosom breaks with the weight
of cursed and lonely brilliance.
Tonight, another prostitute.
(This poem was also posted on my LJ.)
Vivamus, mea Lesbia!
Let us live, my Catullus, and love!
Love is something centuries can't halt.
You'll never meet my parents
and I'll never know your faults.
I won't get fat, you won't get old,
because you're dead. We'll drink wine,
and then some more (you know the rest).
We're matched! In face of that, fuck "time."
Your dirty Latin poetry
makes my thighs convulse.
You provide a knowledge transcending the weight of countless centuries stretching infinitely,
I'll provide the pulse.
Love is something centuries can't halt.
You'll never meet my parents
and I'll never know your faults.
I won't get fat, you won't get old,
because you're dead. We'll drink wine,
and then some more (you know the rest).
We're matched! In face of that, fuck "time."
Your dirty Latin poetry
makes my thighs convulse.
You provide a knowledge transcending the weight of countless centuries stretching infinitely,
I'll provide the pulse.
Haiku and Not Haiku
You Too
Demons and swans
have white necks ending
in a sharp sharp gape.
Tennis Without a Net
Two potatoes
in a cellar corner
sprout naked toes.
Latin
I learnt you for your own
sake. Only a few
of the words
have stayed, and the change
in endings after sine:
without.
Demons and swans
have white necks ending
in a sharp sharp gape.
Tennis Without a Net
Two potatoes
in a cellar corner
sprout naked toes.
Latin
I learnt you for your own
sake. Only a few
of the words
have stayed, and the change
in endings after sine:
without.
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