Moonglasses

Love, so surprise?


When in the wind is the where?
With the you-eyes, the blue-eyes,
And with the so wind in your hair
So golden, so random surprise?

Whither your lips so red
Which meet mine in when and in where?
What words your lips so said
So lost in the random wind there?

When the you and the wind in the heather
With me, lips, words of us love?
Is nature random so together
The us and the so clouds above?

Is love in your eyes You so fair?
Above us the random cloud wise?
Whither the random when and the where?
My nature - love you - so surprise?
​

Song from the Grey Zones (Night Bird)


Mockingly rotating
my bedsit's a satellite around my eyes
thoughtlessly gyrating
the colonnade of beer cans displaying no surprise.
The night bird flies, at 2 a.m.
The scuffed silence strives to condemn
my specious soul for being this,
being this
me.

Cosily hissing
the gas fire's legato lectures my morale.
Someone's missing -
A reconvened conference on the banal.
At the far end of the sofa, the empty space
relentlessly unfurls the visions of your face
grinning and speaking my secret,
my secret
name.

Relief-evading
my psyche swabs at its harlequin's mask.
As you are fading
I cannot muzzle my unforseen task.
The grey zones are corroding the lonely, free bird.
I need you to beam me a message, some word
to ensure the dreams we make
we make
real.
​

Tom Wachtel
1991-04-16
​

Tom Wachtel
1991-04-24
​

A Song

the tingle
isn't your sheets
thawing
they're dissolving
and floating
up into the grey
ceiling
like backwards
snow
don't move
you still
can't see the road
your bed
is a backstreet
where the snowploughs
seldom clear
your nonmainstream
nonmainstreet
way
your place
isn't so small
why keep
your linen
in the fridge?
I used
to think

I used
to think you
did this
to cool
the smithy
of your passions

so cold
my right
shoulderblade
chipped off
in your hand
and you
skimmed it
along the smooth
bathwater

in other beds
I never

I never
wanted
to be rapt

to be wrapped
in furs

in your bed
my ankles
don't hang over
the foot
of the bed

don't move
the separate
points
at which my body
maintains a
delicate
balance
like a bandful
of broccoli
in the crisper
these several
tentative points
have just warmed
a little
to my bodyheat
if you move
all those
kilocalories
have been
wasted

in your bed
I feel like
a raspberry seed
suspended
in a carton of yoghurt

I'm unsure
yet
whether you
may be a raspberry
seed
too

you move too
much

raspberry seeds
keep still
husband
-ing the life with
-in

so cold
when we kiss
our noses
broke off
and plunked
into a glass
of sherry

sledding
on your bed
is exhausting
my chest
toasty
with the multiple
sweaters
my cheeks
raw with
the cold

what
I really want
is a hot
bath
maybe love
should be sweaty
and friction
should be
luxurious
instead
of a matter
of life
and death
and saving
extremities

sweaty
extremities
slipping
all over one
another

lolling
in bed
the next morning
instead of
losing
the occasion
-al finger
if I
oversleep

why
do we sleep
in the kitchen?

must we
eat ice
cream three
times a day?

no coffee?
even
instant
would be fine

cold
-cuts again
in a room
where lettuce
never wilts
and mayonnaise
never goes
bad

--

stage directions



right
if you lack a stage
- - - - - - and many fine people do
use a friend's apartment
give him
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or her
coupons for a bingo-game
far away
up
explain
that he
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or she
may not want to be around
it's nothing
nothing
nothing to cause concern
but
and
don't overexplain
impart at once
assurance and an
earnest
need
for privacy
center
also
depending on where
he
- - - - - - or s.
lives
- - - - - - as many fine people do
wholesomeness
don't hire the or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - orchestra
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or d.j.
yet
go to the wall
down
- - - - - - as many fine p. do
you know
which
go softly
but with presence
which can be
felt
in the last row
- - - - - - of many f. p.
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
if you lack a stage
felt
behind even
the brown sugar
- - - - - - or tarragon
on the darkest shelf
off
look at him
- - - - - - or h.
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or it
gaze
at the wall
don't sigh
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or weep
yet
tell it
say to her
- - - - - - or h.
you're sorry
pause
- - - - - - as many f. p. d.
really sorry
pause
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or wait
ready?
sigh
- - - - - - NOW
- - - - - - as m. f. p. would
if your boyfriend
- - - - - - or
- - - - - - or g.
is there
treat it like a wall
exeunt
left
- - - - - - (don't forget the w.)



kph;
25 Apr 91
​

our signatures lie quietly
side by side

where God sits
at the end of the day

Oh you, passing by this hill -- one
Among many -- who mark this no longer solitary snow,
Hear my story. Stop for a few moments
Here where, dry-eyed, my comrads buried me,
Where, every summer, the gentle field-grass fed by me
Grows thicker and greener than elsewhere.
Killed by my companions for no small crime,
I, Micca the partisan, haven't lain here many years,
Hadn't live many more when darkness struck.

Passer-by, I ask no pardon of you or any other,
No prayer or lament, no special remembrance.
Only one thing I beg: that this peace of mine endure,
That heat and cold succeed each other endlessly above me,
Without fresh blood filtering through clods
To reach me with its deadly warmth,
Waking to new pain these bones long turned to stone.
​

Halina Poświatowska
(tr. from Polish wh)
​

Inside the Apple

MEETING IN THE ROAD


In a narrow road where there was no room to pass
My carriage met the carriage of a young man.
And while his axle was touching my axle
In the narrow road I asked him where he lived.
"The place where I live is easy enough to find,
Easy to find and difficult to forget.
The gates of my house are built of yellow gold,
The hall of my house is paved with white jade,
on the hall table flagons of wine are set,
I had summoned to serve me dancers of Han-tan,
In the midst of a courtyard a Cassia-tree,--
And candles on its branches flaring away in the night.​

Since our hair was plaited and we became man and wife
The love between us was never broken by doubt.
So let us be merry this night together,
Feasting and playing while the good time lasts.


I suddenly remember the distance that I must travel;
I spring from bed and look out to see the time.
The stars and planets are all grown dim in the sky;
Long, long is the road; I cannot stay.
I am going on service, away to the battle-ground,
and I do not know when I shall come back.
I hold your hand with only a deep sigh;
Afterwards, tears -- in the days when we are parted.
With all your might enjoy the spring flowers,
But do not forget the time of our love and pride.
Know that if I live, I will come back again,
and if I die, we will go on thinking of each other.







​

on a bare branch
a crow squats--
autumn murk