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.

 

puppets very bold

sidewalk city flesh
tattooed by footsteps, rain
and spat out gum,
the night seemed so small
it could be contained in a can,
as walking
with hands held as consideration
more than love,
beneath our feet
the city, this beast
harbored many grudges
that seeded into nature
love affairs
side alley muggings
and falling down drunk,
when we found a moment
of thought connecting,
we spoke,
our arrangement was one
created from physical neglect
and no love or lingering passion
would occur,
yet we parted with difficulty
returning to the oblique swathe
of our normal lives,
brought a fear
neither of us could confront
yet truth would not let us
concede to the other

new york at night - vivienne gucwa

new york at night – vivienne gucwa

 

magpie tales statue stamp 185

 

John Fante A Sad Flower In The Sand (documentary )

and you know how to bake

around the mouth

cakemix stolen from the bowl

a taste of the unbaked

sweeter than expected,

holding back the urge

to lick lips noisily ,

washed it away

as a drunkard would

bottle sloshed whiskey

turned burnt caramel,

bowl slipped from edge

of table with enormous shatter,

pieces glazed

spread as his foot got cut

spilled as a sacrifice

for he was a prophet

born in anticipation

growing to expectation,

the world full of paraphernalia

that only a poet mends,

blood painted in circles,

scratching balls in shorts,

where was the thunder

to his profanity,

his stem to water

those fragrant vaginal daisies

errors and promises,

love had entered an interval,

trumps inflated cotton,

she came to see

shaking head

ash fell from her cigarette,

they had binds

beyond gold bands

and a chapel promise,

no atomic desolation would separate

leave it she would say

taking his hand

led to another room

more doors away from

the violent splatter on the walls

best to ignore

her voice sleepy not unsound

sat limply hung out to dry,

she stood adjusted nightgown,

it would be clean,

and wounds heal

maybe the interval was over

beat, poetry , poem

dVersePoets

wordle, sound, war

Sunday Whirl

A poem for dVersePoets and Sunday Whirl , dVerse needed a beat sound and i hope i hit the notes

 

 

no more clapboard storehouse

seasons merchant brings the harvest

flesh ripened berries and firm apples

john deere’s wander fields

barns fill with crop,

barricades still out against winter

last flush of heat clinging on

birds on the cusp of migration

still hold a note in song,

and i face my execution

she had wanted me for years

now i was disposable,

unable to plow fields

and seed a decent crop

inverted hearts adorn the page,

and i find the porch

for sleeping some more,

i wish the merchant did not

expect so much,

being a simple man

i was now to be abandoned

she could make her heart autonomous

it had to turn inside

beneath her maiden outlines

no flesh expanded as she expected,

evicted to the car

its vinyl bench with no pillow

woke one morning and drove

leaving her and her field

to be sown by another

in spring

poetry, poem , fall

concupiscence

he fled those vicissitudes

and hid in the parables

that spread like marmalade

over his life,

as an intrinsic alchemist

transforming the jewels

that drew light into her eyes

nymphlike was not always,

she kissed his lyre

and lingered on the notes

crouched mouth to mouth

the dust of longness

passed between them

hands often released

and time again became frail

his tremors sounded as trumpets

with impossible sobbing

a deep reconciliation

a finger of saffron stained

the tongue

and wafted in embrace

yet he could no more

and neither she

amazed at speech carnivals

that wound words over

rolling track

pirouetting horses dance

to an inconvenient truth,

he listened to the stars

and read long passages

delirious now that it was

divisible,

tomorrow became perpetual

sinuous flow

 

word of the day your favorite word i got carried away again so i hope it works as i have not been functioning so well recently , all the best

 

99% fractured glass

letterman taught liberal arts

bukowski master of the open portal

that caught flies and dirty blondes ,

there where no country estates

or manicured ladies in crinolene,

too much hubbub

and relentless spiral of those

who live in such an octopus town,

that solar flares light the street

and guide those whose frail stories

stumble over awkward words

and metaphor,

master of bliss

with shimmering teeth

and boiling stench caught on

warmer breeze

vigilant for kisses and erotic

composure,

severed happiness from tears

and kept each separate,

behind the doors of our octopus

town the withered languish

robbed of enchanted loins

and their tears now crystallized

as rings for deaths fingers,

clotted souls clogged

as choked diaphragms coughed and

hacked sluices of phlegm,

the doors opened for a moment each day

quick enough for a shadow to be

flung out,

madness was a bomb on every street corner,

diffused as she appeared,

her deceit to entice

and enchant,

womb of silken flotsam

carried nothing hopeful,

yet her heart once orphaned

brought a rising sun

that closed the portal

to bukowski’s dismay

letterman fell aside victim

to iron skies and sanities rent,

heal deep she called

finding it broken

and lambs put together the pieces

with a well chewed glue

dverselogo

incredible saboteur

bones where our fathers sleep

forgotten beneath the stairs,

theater of the virgin daughter has begun

left the abyss

rode naked beneath a harvest sky,

flowers once cast upon the river

caught by rising fishes

their illiterate world

tensed and sure,

this has to be the darkest season

of blood not drawn by knife

but fear of the morning hill,

normal day without monsters

forged on sleeping mental despair,

no amount of her is aimless,

violets had been crushed on the lawn

buzzards had become trapped in

rivers sediment,

wrapped in fabric woven with

delusion and anagrams of what

love should of brought,

bands of gold encircle retinas flourish,

she has found a new way

more than chromosomes shared with

other mammals,

she raises a visible alarm,

society dissected under assured touch

and found the moon wanting,

no more to be buried side by side

eternal would be joy and dance,

then we sleep