Apogee and other poems
Apogee and other poems
Apogee
He would found Rome.
He would found Nineveh in Mesopotamia,which enclose their legs.
She and an eclipse
She and distant Antares
His elegy is an ancient
She a promise of yellow rocks
Can one by the light of your lampI won’t
see her anymore I won’tApogee
She would found Rome.
She would find Assyria in the Mesopotamia
She and the eclipse
She and the distant Antares
Her elegy is an ancient dream
She, a promise of yellow rocks
You can ask for glory or tempestNot her, no
I will never see her
I will never see herWriting on a brick
What have we written that will change everything?
We have made the ships
to shake in the ocean,
and the lights were the water,
the sun that stone with metal.On that ship a captain
drank the silent foam of the hours,
and perhaps he fell asleep late every night.We have said that the dock
hid a siren
among the iron eaten away by salt,
we think of the cold,
of the moon torn by the cranes.Do we create the ghosts of moisture on the wall?
It’s true. The sky has been beastly
this year with the blind and itinerant,
but what have we written that will change everything?Writing on a Brick
What have we written that will change everything?
We put the ships out
to bob on the sea,
and made water into lights,
the sun, a rock of metals.In that boat a captain was drinking
the silent foam of the hours,
and maybe sleep came late each night.We said a mermaid
hid in the harbor
among chains pitted by salt,
we thought about the cold,
and the moon shredded by cranes.Do we make up ghosts from moldy spots on the wall?
It’s true. The sky has been brutal
this year for the blind and the ambulatory, but
what have we written that will change everything?Voyages
She knows about boats,
I am drowned by the sound of the rain.She finds mysteries, bronze keys
and words, silence,
because damp cities are trunks
and she knows about ships.I have always looked for treasures
attentive to the message, to the smell of wood
that the winds bring.
I don’t know why my blood-filled
body is a cup
or a rudder that turns.She knows about boats,
I am drowned out by the sound of the rain.But she belongs to the moving world.
He is not afraid of clocks, seas, trains.
A chain is iron music,
a coin can be the host
because damp cities dissolve
and she knows about ships.But I am of cobalt and ash,
a walker who is shipwrecked on land
and sinks slowly into the avenue.
When the moon floats over the river
with a single stone I have poured
its white sand all over the water.She knows about boats,
I am drowned out by the sound of the rain.Day Runs
She knows about boats,
and the sound of the rain drowns me.She finds mysteries, keys
of bronze and words, silence,
because humid cities are steamer trunks
and she knows about boats.I’ve always searched for treasures
alert to the message, the scent
of wood the winds bring.
I don’t know why my body
is a cup full of blood
or a rudder that turns.She knows about boats,
and the sound of the rain drowns me.She belongs to a shifting world.
She’s not afraid to the watches, seas, trains.
If a chain is the music of steel
, a coin can be the holy wafer
because humid cities disappear
and she knows about boats.And I am cobalt and ash,
a traveler who shipwrecks on land
and sinks slowly into the avenue.
When the moon floats over the river
, a single stone suffices to detonate it
and spread its white sands all over the water.She knows about boats,
and the sound of the rain drowns me.The Neighbor
The one who chose the words,
the water from his lips to wash the days,
his body humiliated by clothes,
in the whipped and silent sand.Lift the veil to see her closed hand
Omitted as a god of abandoned stones,
and men balanced by memory.(The mountain also hurts
it and the man who advances it like a weaponThe one who believes in what his impoverished eyes
The enlightened ox, the tenacious of nausea.
He, like us, also inherited death.Our Fellow Man
The one who chose the words,
the moisture on his lips to cleanse the days,
his body humiliated by clothes
in the beaten, silent sand.Lift the veil to see his hand
Omitted like a god of abandoned stones,
in this country of mirrors(The mountains are also pained
and the man who advances with them like a weaponThe one who believes in what his eyes see,
The nauseous, plodding one, the educated ox,
He, like us, also inherited death.Optic
This can be seen, it is known, there is no science,
there is the eye.The creator of the moon was gray.
Rivers are dragging away.
Water is round, water
is a living crystal.And the god of foxes goes out
every morning to hunt Englishmen.Lens
This can be seen, it’s known,
science doesn’t exist, the eye exists.The maker of the moon was grey.
Rivers drag themselves along.
Water is round, water
is a crystal that lives.And the god of foxes comes out
every morning to hunt the English.The visible darkness
Open your arms,
close your eyes
and let no one run away from the light.Poems are things,
blood can be a fish under the skin.
Please feel the water
chilled by the wind on your cheeks.Let’s build a bridge.
And maybe tomorrow the river
will run underneath and the shadows
will fall into the water when the cars
pass by like in San Francisco,
and the birds triumph over the air,
and the pillars move in the darkness.You’ll see: people dream.
The river runs. Fish swim.Visible Dark
Open the arms, close the eyes
and don’t any body run away from the light.Poems are things,
blood can be a fish under the skin.
Please feel the water
frozen by the wind on your cheeks.Let’s make a bridge.
Maybe tomorrow the river
will flow under it and shadows
will fall on the water when cars
pass by like in San Francisco.
And perhaps birds will triumph over air,
and down below, pillars will move in the darkness.You’ll see. People dream.
The river flows. The fish swim.