Sometimes I Wonder Poem by RIC BASTASA

at this moment, when i begin to write again
another set of poems

(i stop for a while, away from official matters
this business of the mind thinking
clearly and logically, setting aside premises
and dogmas and
theorems, not wanting any proof of my sanity
and reasonableness

i relax a bit, on some matters of the heart
the emotions all colored wildly like a dream
a wet dream, to be specific....

sometimes i ask, if i can still write about
libido, the wanton directionless cravings of the thighs
and the caprices of the fingers...

i get lost with reason and i become as firm as an
iron rod, shunning feelings, oh, how do i like to be a rock?

it is sad to be numb. I detest when this happens
as a matter of everyday business, and i become tense

if at all, i have ceased to be human, or if i have changed
myself suddenly to be nothing but a cabinet or a desk
or a mess in front of my eyes...

i daydream, once i was a young man, once i was so carefree
that was the time when poetry was vibrating like a
man's flesh between my legs...

i miss the river and the baths and the fish swimming under my belly.
i miss the songs of the frogs, how they prayed for rain and how
the celebrate when it comes.

i miss the summer months of April and May when love was as
abundant as bees.

I miss you. Your gaze burns me.
Your kiss makes me feel so alive.

thinking about you, yes, about love in abundance, and then
oh, the ecstasy of words.

i have written, i shall speak, when you return.
I have written the happy poem, tell me when

shall i write it again.