borracho según lo bebido

Borracho según lo bebido en la trementina de sus besos abiertos, su
cuerpo mojado acuñado entre mi cuerpo mojado y la aleta de nuestro
barco que se haga de flores, banqueteado, la dirigimos - nuestros
dedos como los sebos adornados con el metal amarillo - sobre el borde
caliente del cielo, la respiración pasada del día en nuestras velas.

Fijado por el sol entre el solsticio y el equinoccio, soñoliento y
enredado juntos mandilamos por meses y despertamos con el gusto amargo
de la tierra en nuestros labios, párpados todo pegajosos, y deseamos
cal y el sonido de una cuerda que bajaba un cubo abajo de su pozo.
Entonces, vinimos por noche a las islas afortunadas, y endecha como
pescados bajo red de nuestros besos.

Neruda

Beauty makes me hopeless. I don't care why anymore I just want to get away. When I look at the city of Paris I long to wrap my legs around it. When I watch you dancing there is a heartless immensity like a sailor in a dead calm sea. Desires as round as peaches bloom in me all night, I no longer gather Anne Carson: On Hedonism

So I take my
Good fortune
And I fantasize
Of our leaving
Like some modern-day
Gypsy landslide
Like some modern-day
Bonnie and Clyde

Twenty-One Love Poems

I wake up in your bed. I know I have been dreaming.
Much earlier, the alarm broke us from each other,
you've been at your desk for hours. I know what I dreamed:
our friend the poet comes into my room
where I've been writing for days,
drafts, carbons, poems are scattered everywhere,
and I want to show her one poem
which is the poem of my life. But I hesitate,
and wake. You've kissed my hair
to wake me. I dreamed you were a poem,
I say, a poem I wanted to show someone...
and I laugh and fall dreaming again
of the desire to show you to everyone I love,
to move openly together
in the pull of gravity, which is not simple,
which carried the feathered grass a long way down
the upbreathing air.

~ Adrienne Rich

*

I wish in the city of your heart
you would let me be the street
where you walk when you are most
yourself. I imagine the houses:
It has been raining, but the rain
is done and the children kept home
have begun opening their doors.

Robley Wilson

smiling into a wobbly mirror i say

YOU VE TRRNED MEINTO A LANGUAGE I CANNOT SPEAK WITHOUT YOU

up into the silence the green
silence with a white earth in it

you will(kiss me)go

out into the morning the young
morning with a warm world in it

(kiss me)you will go

on into the sunlight the fine
sunlight with a firm day in it

you will go(kiss me

down into your memory and
a memory and memory

i)kiss me,(will go)

--ee cummings

only the best

In the slaughterhouse of love
they kill only the best,
none of the weak or deformed.

Do not run away from this dying.
Whoever is not killed for love is dead meat.

Rumi

Excerpts from Shane Koyczan's "Apology"

When you've got no time to save anyone but yourself you better believe
you're worth it and you are worth the time it takes to take the time to get to know you.
We've managed to muddle through the awkward stages of "I like you" and "do you like me"
and when we both said yes life became a multiple choice test; not knowing anything,
we became each others best guess. And holding your hand is less like exploration and more like discovery.
Lady, I don't have to study you to be sure you were the choice I made before
I knew what the other choices were.

and

I also want amnesia so I can relive each kiss with a perfect newness
that leaves me smashed in the arms of rapture. I want the sky to fracture under
the impossible weight of an apology because I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I want so much.
I'm sorry that I'm using "I'm sorry" as a crutch to lean on for so long
but if you sing me that song of sweet logic again then I promise to make the effort
to stand on my own. There is a reason that our hearts are more like a muscle
and less like a bone. I've known so many people who've have grown up flexing
in front of mirrors and falling for their own reflection as if that's adequate but that's bullshit.
Because we only get now until the time we go and if they've only got time to love themselves
then nobody is going to be around to hear the sound of their heartbeat echo.
So lady, don't expect an apology when I tell you I'm only held together
by a heart that pumps blue, it's the strongest muscle in my body and I'm flexing it for you.

the beginning of things

Tonight, we make up our own legends.
As we go along we discover
Buried treasure. Why, when


Touched, does skin raise rows
Of budding flowers, a castle,
Lightning shows? Did you hear
Of the two lovers too entwined
They made the gods so jealous
They had to spend their entire lives
Aching for each other, one turned
Into a rock, the other a bay?
Only, for a few minutes each day
With the tide could they, with rage
And mad laughter, embrace. And so
I recall their tragedy in the midst
Of our pleasure, taking even more
Time to name and rename the sudden
Dip between the waist and hip,
The regions where lips rest most
At home. I conjure up a full
Moon, chant a forbidden word
Three times, and stir in our
Bed, a pool in whose clear water
I see our future. Kingdom
Of locked limbs, shared breath.
The answers now come flying
Like a winged horse or gold coins
Spilling from a magic purse.
Barefoot, I dance through fire.
I tower over trees. And I bring
To you, still smoking and warm,
The beggar hands of a goddess.


by Fatima Lim-Wilson

el amenazado

Es el amor. Tendré que ocultarme o huir.

Crecen los muros de su cárcel, como en un sueño atroz. La
hermosa máscara ha cambiado, pero como siempre es la única.
¿De qué me servirán mis talismanes: el ejercicio de las letras,
la vaga erudición el aprendizaje de las palabras que usó
el áspero Norte para cantar sus mares y sus espadas, la serena amistad,
las galerías de la Biblioteca, las cosas comunes, los hábitos, el joven
amor de mi madre, la sombra militar de mis muertos, la noche
intemporal, el sabor del sueño?
Estar contigo o no estar contigo, es la medida de mi tiempo.
Ya el cántaro se quiebra sobre la fuente, ya el hombre se levanta a la voz
del ave, ya se han oscurecido los que miran por la ventana, pero la
sombra no ha traído la paz.
Es ya lo se, el amor: la ansiedad y el alivio de oír tu voz, la espera y la
espera y la memoria, el horror de vivir en lo sucesivo.
Es el amor con sus mitologías, con su pequeñas magias inútiles.
Hay una esquina por la que no me atrevo a pasar.
Ya los ejércitos que cercan, las hordas.
(Esta habitación es irreal; ella no la ha visto.)
El nombre de una mujer me delata.
Me duele una mujer en todo el cuerpo.

Jorge Luis Borges

*

Look, it's spring.

And last year's loose dust has turned into this soft willingness. The wind-flowers have come up trembling, slowly the brackens are uplifting their curvaceous and pale bodies. The thrushes have come home, none less than filled with mystery, sorrow, happiness, music, ambition.

And i am walking out into all of this with nowhere to go and no task undertaken but to turn the pages of this beautiful world over and over, in the world of my mind.

Mary Oliver

it happens like this

I was outside St. Cecelia's Rectory
smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me.
It was mostly black and white, with a little reddish
brown here and there. When I started to walk away,
it followed. I was amused and delighted, but wondered
what the laws were on this kind of thing. There's
a leash law for dogs, but what about goats? People
smiled at me and admired the goat. "It's not my goat,"
I explained. "It's the town's goat. I'm just taking
my turn caring for it." "I didn't know we had a goat,"
one of them said. "I wonder when my turn is." "Soon,"
I said. "Be patient. Your time is coming." The goat
stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked
up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew
everything essential about me. We walked on. A police-
man on his beat looked us over. "That's a mighty
fine goat you got there," he said, stopping to admire.
"It's the town's goat," I said. "His family goes back
three-hundred years with us," I said, "from the beginning."
The officer leaned forward to touch him, then stopped
and looked up at me. "Mind if I pat him?" he asked.
"Touching this goat will change your life," I said.
"It's your decision." He thought real hard for a minute,
and then stood up and said, "What's his name?" "He's
called the Prince of Peace," I said. "God! This town
is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there's mystery
and wonder. And I'm just a child playing cops and robbers
forever. Please forgive me if I cry." "We forgive you,
Officer," I said. "And we understand why you, more than
anybody, should never touch the Prince." The goat and
I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning
to wonder where we would spend the night.

James Tate

if

If you bring forth what is within you,
what is within you will save you.
If you do not bring forth what is within you,
what is within you will destroy you.

Gospel of Thomas

Sunday

The mint bed is in
bloom: lavender haze
day. The grass is
more than green and
throws up sharp and
cutting lights to
slice through the
plane tree leaves. And
on the cloudless blue
I scribble your name.

James Schuyler