Modern Prayer For The Rack-Rent

1

As It Set In Motion With A

Kick At The Port On The Rear? Your Clothes

Dangle On A Sigh Of Iron

Taut As Your Braid, Schoolgirl On The First Day Of Desk, On Which You Saw

The Seagulls Lift Off And The Future Perfect Become

Confused In The Eyes Of Your Father;

During The Hour That Evening Moans In The Hands Of

The Women Bowed To

Their Aprons And To

Look For Lice To Pass The Time, And Pass It

To You, Little Girls -

Close The Open Spaces Out. Out Means Your Mind And The Fact Is That Your Mind Doesn’t Exist

At All, As Well As Your

Face, Your Eyes. Nothing Up-To-The-

Minute, To Be Sure,

I Heard The Miner Say - Before He Entered The Cave

I Would Have Never Seen Him Again.

And I Learned, I Discovered.

You May Say It’s Impossible – I Say Love Do Seem Impossible, Too

Don’t You See The Way Young _Lovers Do?

Enough To Be Unreal, And They Tell

The Unintended Kisses, Simply.

2

I Still Keep In Mind The Red Carpets

Of Your Spoken Tongue, My Love,

In Which The Ancient Poet Wrote His Letters In Silver And

Seeds__ Of _Tangerine

A Joyful Noise I Heard

Standing The Rain And Me _Under The Tree That Flourishes

The Knife And Your Eyes Divine.

Oh What Do Love Put In The Hand Of A Fool!

Majesty Is The Word Love,

Majesty Is The Bee, Too – The Water In The Jar Of A Thirsty Vigilance – The Sun Vacillating On

A Side Of The Scale - Oh What It Costs This Light At Times

Pitting The Quartz Of My

Son’s Skull

And Making It_ Spring Comprehensible Fountains To

Wash The Clothes Of All The Children

Of  Nazareth, And Our Sisters’ Hairs And Our Brothers’

Fashion Accessories.

3

I Know - Freedom __Is A Hard Word To __Pronounce                    (Pray God, A Stone – Whatever)

Freedom Is A Winding Word, Not Easy To Release

I’ve Never Met A Free Individual For

The Reason That, Somehow, A Stupid Commandment Makes A Man__ Or A Sister Be An Individual

All Along The Years Of Teens My Professors

Told Me How To Share,

How To Divide An Apple, The Fire In The

Fireplace Or The Fruit Of

The Orange Tree, (The Most Troubled Thing To Do) My Books With A Companion

But It’s Pleasant To Divide The Golden Words

Written Somewhere Inside

(Using A Ballpoint The Crimson-White Whore Called Love,

According To The Pebbles Of Antonine Artaud)

And For All  Diners. I Would Have Liked To Learn Better How To

Play My Mother’s Piano, To Practice My Cry

As Loudly As Possible

4

In Your Shadow Still Remaining – Me -

(You May Possibly Mean I ) – Walking In It,

– Properly –

I Still Can Find The Place Where The Wild Fennel

Lets Its Perfume Caress My

Wondering.

 

And Now My Cry Is A Delivery Of Hourglasses – Ridiculous Handles Separated By Doors; Now My

Cry Is A Bright Bird Of Green, You Can Call Him Poetry, My Guy Use To Call Him

Mr. Fantasy, Like A Famous Song We Used To Sing.

Don’t Be Afraid.             Fly,

Fly  My Little Bird, Spirit Of Inspiration, With All Of

Your ____Conspiracy To__ Save

The Leaving ___And The Waiting.

I Don’t Need A Nest –The Bird Says – Who’s Going To Ever Necessitate

A Nest Before He’s Gone? I Ask. But My Voice Decreases,

And The Door Is Locked, As Well As The

Landlord Requests.

                                                                           I Wish Him To Be Blessed.