Herd
The herd moves into the glutch
where the salt lick waits.
Their thirst is mine too. I too carry the signs of branding.
Iron pressed into leather, desire pressed against memory.
My Poems
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Clippings
[1]
Everyone is dancing, the beat
travels along old routes of silken blood
to cities with strange and familiar names.
My heart is in Samarkand and my body dances in Tashkent and the roads have vanished in the dust storms our legs have kicked up!
The foolish poet however continues to seek words for his poems, his constellations his unknown planets!
[2] The night is being poured from wine bottles, an endless dark.
From this blanket of stars show me how to seive the particles of desire for you?
[3] Ache Ache! This is the color of my blood. Ache splits worlds within. The broders are parabolas of exile. How to cross this, which I canot name? Desire Desire!
[4] This evening of love how has it arrived? Its directions remain unknown. Perhaps the drum, the clapping hands or your flashing eyes will know!
My Poems
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Silence
Your anger reaches me.
This distance explodes
all meaning out of my language.
A branch falls from a tree,
nothing remains to be further said.
My Poems
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