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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Blues
What color is desire
and what does exile color?
Across these divisions pale hands arrive, in letters with foreign stamps.
I urge them out into the light and place them on my scarred face.
Thus ends a long summer of thirst. Then the recoil of my lips frees words
as they begin to interrogate your lips for answers, assurances and silences.
What color is desire and what does exile color?
My Poems
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