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Shreds
the last train snakes away
the last train of music
leaves our world.
no one gets down
at the blue station of beauty.
the train meets the vulture
at the vanishing point,
in my painting…
where waits an old friend,
with dancers
in her wet collar bones…
she asks me to tear her,
in every shred…
…occult is her feet
and her prayer an inferno.
Garcia,
Garcia
today you can confess,
you were the one
who bridged piano, salt and naked whores
and boarded the train of dancers.
you were the one
conversing in the raw mist
with werewolves.
then I tell my old friend,
“I stole the truth from unwilling prophets
and here I am
painting streets with vanishing points;
would you like it if I tore you?”
blue and occult, her feet.
[Note: Garcia is Federico Garcia Lorca of course]
6 comments:
I can feel the melody of your train slipping through my fingers, the harsh whistle driving me mad...
I know you...I am sure you know me too... :)
glad to read your poems...glad to know you are a S&G connoisseur
I think this is one of your best. The sheer power of the images amazes me.
I can picture a painting that moves through frames... I love the poem in its entirety, for the first time I won't be able to choose lines that I like 'best'... doing that would be disrespectful to a poem like this...
as i told u..the best thing abt this poem is its Title.That in,itself, completes a lot and invokes further ripples within the words....there's again a recurrent violent wave running althrough...Nice. :)
"I stole the truth from unwilling prophets
and here I am
painting streets with vanishing points;"
First time one comes across anything resembling rhyme in your gothic poems. Another dark masterpiece.
I wish the two of us could just sit together with your poems laid out in front of us......and you would tell me what each line, each word means....why you wrote what you did....what was going through that incredible mind of yours.......I wish...I really do..
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