Julian Herbert – McDonald’s

 

Never fall in love 1 kilo

ground beef.

Never fall in love with the table set,

from meats, vessel

she kissed insistent mouth

iced tangerine, powder:

Instant.

Never fall in love with this

love powder, cough

Life of a name (Ana,

Claudia Tania: does not matter,

die every name), a flame

drowning. Never fall in love

another sonnet.

Never fall in love with blue stockings,

blue veins of below average,

thigh meat, that

meat as superficial.

Never fall in love with the cook.

But you’ll never fall in love, too,

either,

Sunday football, fast food,

nothing in mind but the ropes as cots.

Never fall in love with death,

his lust maid

your dog cruelty,

Touch your midwife.

Never fall in love in hotels,

simple past, paper

letterhead, porn movies,

in fulminating eyes celestial graves

clandestine speak in boleros, carrying

Denis de Rougemont.

The speed, in alcohol,

in Beatrice,

in the pan:

never fall for 1 kilo of ground beef.

Never.

No.

*

and in original text

 

Nunca te enamores de 1 kilo

de carne molida.

Nunca te enamores de la mesa puesta,

de las viandas, de los vasos

que ella besaba con boca de insistente

mandarina helada, en polvo:

instantánea.

Nunca te enamores de este

polvo enamorado, la tos

muerta de un nombre (Ana,

Claudia, Tania: no importa,

todo nombre morirá), una llama

que se ahoga. Nunca te enamores

del soneto de otro.

Nunca te enamores de las medias azules,

de las venas azules debajo de la media,

de la carne del muslo, esa

carne tan superficial.

Nunca te enamores de la cocinera.

Pero nunca te enamores, también,

tampoco,

del domingo: futbol, comida rápida,

nada en la mente sino sogas como cunas.

Nunca te enamores de la muerte,

su lujuria de doncella,

su sevicia de perro,

su tacto de comadrona.

Nunca te enamores en hoteles, en

pretérito simple, en papel

membretado, en películas porno,

en ojos fulminantes como tumbas celestes,

en hablas clandestinas, en boleros, en libros

de Denis de Rougemont.

En el speed, en el alcohol,

en la Beatriz,

en el perol:

nunca te enamores de 1 kilo de carne molida.

Nunca.

No.

 

did the sky close

trees doused in solar gasoline

flaring cinematic glow

radiant crawling into eyes

and eventually the heart,

it is beyond the four day rain

so no use writing a haiku,

what will you say to moments

missed out by heaven

and only mortal seen,

air as with light has cooled

leaves and pine needles

penetrate the body,

someone will hunt a deer

stripping carcass on the ground

flies on blood crust,

crows clack and dance on branches

high,

in summer your sea washed hair

fell in curls,

now damp hung onto shoulders

as you move off the porch,

eyes with a carnivore hollering

look at those trees

axe slips in hand

thudding only in the mind

blood trail on boards

not yet dry,

those beings who creak at night

have cheated you into thinking

that cutting laughter out of a

throat was better seen than smelled

footfalls soft blue dress swish

night will crawl back into the moon

and phase out its glow,

taking with it memories

no longer imprinted

fragile in the innocence of

aftermath began to feel

that summer had gone

like an abrupt lover

and everything would be felt

with a frost

of reality

 

 

 

songs of the heart

suns pity shines

on the damaged boat,

listless resting on rocky beach

cracked paint and clouded windows,

once and a while ago

it moved on inlet

under sail and motor

bright painted with bright young things

sipping drinks,

swim shorts and bikinis

cast off bottles

peeled labels no messages

sink if not carried by current

settling with pale crabs

moving over bottom

withe sideward indifference

creations blood flowed,

and they aged,

a parked sedan

jacketed against the cold

a mans hand touched bow

feeling that old electricity,

seeing the vibrancy

that once had been

a life of splendor

poetry , poem