Warren Falcon Quotes
''Discovery of the alwaysfrom 'Extensions Of Crash - Strophes For Frieda Kahlo'
heavy Zero, the only
Absolute of merit
arms grown beyond counting
the better to carry
Gift of Arabia,
the non-alloyed Zero
unmeasured by mass
better names for god:
''For all the words dished up,from 'For All The Words Dished Up - Two For Emily Dickinson'
A plate without meat. Maybe bone.
No love fattened you,
never used your flesh.''
''Does not it all bearfrom 'Love, When You, Biting. Tear The Ear Of My Hearing Bear Me Then
the familiar arc, say,
of just-dawn color,
mauve-play at the liminal
curve where sky beseeches
bounded space to give
its shapeless-nest a Cause''
''I dance with youfrom 'O See My Little Red Shoes, Bright Bright, O Clap Your Hands For Me - What I Once Became And Now Still Am'
forever, Little Pig.
I polish your shoes of
metal - tiny espejos - mirrors -
vincapervinca - periwinkles - on
the heals to tap.''
''They would argue over tidesfrom 'How It Was I Came To Be What I Am'
Who bade me come into the world.
One said, Six o'clock.
The other, No, twelve.
I was born at the thirteenth hour
All the while mother arguing,
This is not the time but a little spell,
While father argued it was death,
You are dying and your child, too,
Is dying. You have been poisoned.
It was full moon and high tide,
The hour of birth.
All arguments yielded to the tide's.''
''If you wore nylons I could kiss you. I'm confused.from 'Haiku D'Estat - Staten Island Ferry Wake,1984'
Infused vagrant blood refuses no stops. Lust cops
wait in dark glasses near darker doors to bust...
...I've managed before.
Two black coffees
and the shakes, bad.
Were we talking about rabbit punches
last night, the blank, blond faces
of Stockholm? Which drinks were free?''
''We take our ragged bones out of rented rooms for long walks.from 'Hard Days On In At The Rehab For Drunken Poets, An Opera Of Sorts, Circa 1981'
You point out between bricks the rainbows in windows, the dirt
now become your dirt, your genius for transformations.
I ram my own by now trite and hackneyed points
home over and over, but it works on days like these.''
''Not bad companyfrom 'Dante In The Laundromat - Journeys Further Into Hell With Two Lines From The Book'
but no quarter to pay
for Virgil's rude company
here, now, grizzled,
uncensored keeper of
the Seven Stories of Suds.
The lousy dryer tears
my shirts, cycles for
only seven minutes as
is the seven rungs a
quarter, just one quarter
more, one thinks, prays,
hopes, seeking upon the
dirty tiles beneath metal
folding chairs for 'just
one more' to stay warm
enough before venturing
further, slog through
Level Two with damp
laundry, a sleety night
in cold Manhattan''
''You, dear, will readfrom ''And The Daylight Separated The Mad Boy From His Shadow' - Cancion For Garcia Lorca'
of my heterosexual shadow
a great lover who serenades
her in the terrible contradiction
of the moon caught
in bare tree limbs/strophes
just outside Her window
the fool below in rouge
head hung, singing
heart's tin can tied
to belt loop behind
of his ragged pants
to be filled with
in the dirty lane
he leans his
'''Nothing to lose, this rag of selves.from 'Even Pretty Buddhas - Rumors Exist Of Han Shan's Unfettered Inscriptions Of Wind'
With what glory remains of hungry pockets
I skip forward singing, La La La, a willful
don, a lord of nothing-much, poems a'pocket...''''
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David To Jonathan, A Lost Psalm Recovered, Recent Translation, Circa 1978
'And it came to pass...that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul...Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle.'
- 1 Samuel 18: 1 - 4 King James Bible
The Lost Psalm
This ancient tonguing
betrays some fault
disdaining the human world -
which occurred first,
the birthing or the wounding?
Abjuring flesh of...
Ars Poetica Redux
Dying trees easily fall..
Poems, too, as they should.
Dead wood rots from which
One good poem may grow,
The better to hear in the higher
Branches, the creaking lower limbs.
Sequestering lovers late afternoon
Whisper. One is carving the bark,