Balconies' Rail
I
Though I don't know of whose creation,
yours or mine; your image drifts-
the drift of a fresh monstrosity-
Pinned under the ice, the baby
stares you in the face
but doesn't respond
(will howls nonsense)
My abortion can be representative
of a virus
leaning in an open space,
leaning in a hallway; ancient dried
rivulets on the ridged wall
hotel coffin cabin:
A sample of a psyche it
would behoove you to save (or salve)
in accord with the imperatives of convenience.
So atrophied by silicon glow
wrenching that eternal chord,
wishing to sever it painlessly,
You eat phantom air
outside your cave.
Your lungs fill with
nothing.
Your loins fill nothing.
Your loins are filled
by nothing.
The glowing glyphs
sear through nothing
and encroach on the nothing
your mind has become;
your limbs pierced,
your tongue addicted to rot.
II
I've successfully healed
the anguish in my young bones.
The marrow no longer flashes and pops
but dimly glows, an ache unaccustomed.
I recall the soft smoothness of your thighs...
the satin sienna crepe of your skin
for my hands, my essence coiled
ready to be you.
I collect my much vilified
(behind my back replaced)
seed, and my
afflicted by use mental musings
(for your sake)
and will perch on the balcony rail
Perch on the balcony rail
with my hair in my eyes
no glue for my spine
I will perch on the balconies' rail
My voice is amused and alive
It sings to my mind as I dive
Your dark eyes revealed
Your apt lips concealed
Your tears play a fugue unperturbed
as I perch on the balcony rail
I recall the window grate's shadow
on the ceiling as I half slept
It moved with my grief
I writhed bequeathed
to the plunge of that gnostic travail-
The desired become God, god
gone away.
I killed you by desire.
I killed dead imaginings.
I imagine inconsequential inanities
as I dive from the balconies' rail
III
The wind world will howls
and moans grief stricken,
making many rends in
the black canopy.
Her hair black, silken or velvet
once long ago in my eyes...
I bleed from my eyes
The night bleeds from its cries
as my tears touch the balconies' rail
In Berlin and Wien
Brooklyn, Dublin and Venice
I am on the balcony rail.
I am missing.
You wonder what weight I carry
when you meet me at parties.
When you wonder to intently
you make a joke of it.
I am bred with
ornate balconies
starless night
concrete
to insure my future subordination.
Wounded by fickle libidos
and dilettante lovers,
My tainted visions
claw through conscious inanity, thus
tempting me to balconies' rail.
IV
Trailing wire strung blood,
My head anointed with love scent,
My depth unchangeable,
I float through the brisk night air.
At the point of some lucid realization,
(I eye rippleless water below)
My head impacts the concrete ceiling.
Even in annihilation my love I'll never change.
I'm unaccustomed to changing
to make life convenient
for those who pretend to care
while looking from heights, slackjawed,
while staring after gripping white knuckled
(Blue veins bulging
in disbelieving white fists)
The balconies' rail.
V
Love burns entirely
and the sacrificial starlight glints
off the balconies' rail:
Elegies "to a woundhearted boy"
"to a lost soul"
"to a meandering
life"
"to wind scattered
ashes"
"to enzymes ground
in concrete"
"to one last
poem"
"to one missing
poet"
"to a lost lover
without a sepulchre"
"to 'Cordoba to die in' "
My last poem my love
Is graven in starless night.
Now we see those distances.
The universal dark of a dead pupil.
A slovenly Deity
indifferent to the death
of those who are brilliant
despite him.
We must light a candle and
hiss at nothing
from all the balconies' rail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem