Thanks to the editors of the following publications in which some of the poems in this blogbook first appeared:
Melancholia’s Tremulous Dreadlocks : "Aphrodite of the Flowers at Knossos", "Philosophy", "No Harbor", "Dear Hera", "Chaste Artemis", "Two Doves", "What To Do?", "A Column of Good Things"
Seconds: "Rash"
Thanks, also, to W.B. Keckler for posting a generous selection over at Joe Brainard's Pyjamas.
A Note on the Poems
Sappho Does Hay(na)ku is a mix of translations, mistranslations, and fabrications. The pieces were made mostly in June-July, 2006; some of them were tinkered with this year.
This book is now available in a signed, hand-bound limited edition from Sephyrus Press.
June 2007
This book is now available in a signed, hand-bound limited edition from Sephyrus Press.
September 2008
Aphrodite of the Flowers at Knossos
Shadows
branches weave
across the brook—
Enter
my temple
of apple trees.
Wind-blown
white blossoms,
grazing brown mare—
Honey
gold wine,
overfill my cup.
branches weave
across the brook—
Enter
my temple
of apple trees.
Wind-blown
white blossoms,
grazing brown mare—
Honey
gold wine,
overfill my cup.
Rash
How
it itches,
dawn after dawn,
like
some flea-
infected goat skin.
Pray
to Zeus
it gets gone
soon—
I haven't
fucked in weeks.
it itches,
dawn after dawn,
like
some flea-
infected goat skin.
Pray
to Zeus
it gets gone
soon—
I haven't
fucked in weeks.
To a Young Love
Remember
when we
were whatever beautiful
creatures
we imagined
roaming our wilderness . . .
Soft-spoken,
rock-hard lover,
you deserved laurels!
when we
were whatever beautiful
creatures
we imagined
roaming our wilderness . . .
Soft-spoken,
rock-hard lover,
you deserved laurels!
Moon Honey Night
She
could sing
all night long
in
her open
violet bride gown.
We
will be
like honey-voiced nightingales
who
barely sleep
and shrug-off dawn.
could sing
all night long
in
her open
violet bride gown.
We
will be
like honey-voiced nightingales
who
barely sleep
and shrug-off dawn.
By Myself
round
midnight the
moon's bright eye
opens,
the Pleiades
bare their breasts.
Hours
spiraling, I
sleep with air.
midnight the
moon's bright eye
opens,
the Pleiades
bare their breasts.
Hours
spiraling, I
sleep with air.
Morning Wood
Eros
came down
from the mountain
in purple cape
and nothing
else,
penis
jutting out,
a crimson stake.
came down
from the mountain
in purple cape
and nothing
else,
penis
jutting out,
a crimson stake.
Choosing
Couldn't
care less
about the honey,
let alone the
busy little
honeybee . . .
but
you don't
believe me, huh?
care less
about the honey,
let alone the
busy little
honeybee . . .
but
you don't
believe me, huh?
Peek-a-Boo
Tried
to hide
behind the laurel
but
your boobs
gave you away.
Watching
you step
out smiling, all
stride
and sheer
white garments flowing,
I
tremble I
want you bad.
to hide
behind the laurel
but
your boobs
gave you away.
Watching
you step
out smiling, all
stride
and sheer
white garments flowing,
I
tremble I
want you bad.
Lyric for Lesbos
Leg
around leg
around leg around
leg
around song
around leg around
mountain
of leg
around leg around
leg
around leg
mountain of song.
around leg
around leg around
leg
around song
around leg around
mountain
of leg
around leg around
leg
around leg
mountain of song.
Graces, Muses
I'm not sure
which I
prefer,
the Graces in
their affection
or
the Muses with
their stylish
hair.
which I
prefer,
the Graces in
their affection
or
the Muses with
their stylish
hair.
Strangers in the Night
Your voice
sweeter
than the sound
swinging from
the most delicate
guitar.
Your eyes
whiter
than egg shells—
will they crack
open for
me?
sweeter
than the sound
swinging from
the most delicate
guitar.
Your eyes
whiter
than egg shells—
will they crack
open for
me?
A Column of Good Things
Saffron
robe, apple
blossom robe, amaranth
robe,
black sake
robe, absinthe robe,
doesn't
really matter:
best is always
white
garlands and
flowing open robe.
robe, apple
blossom robe, amaranth
robe,
black sake
robe, absinthe robe,
doesn't
really matter:
best is always
white
garlands and
flowing open robe.
Dialogue
Spoke
with you
in a dream.
"Where
you from?"
I asked. "Cyprus."
"You've
traveled far."
"Call me Ulysses."
"Where
to now?"
"You tell me."
with you
in a dream.
"Where
you from?"
I asked. "Cyprus."
"You've
traveled far."
"Call me Ulysses."
"Where
to now?"
"You tell me."
Re: the Gods
They
didn't so
much as blink
let
alone shed
a single tear
while
we declared
our fucking love
they
were busy
bickering over alms.
didn't so
much as blink
let
alone shed
a single tear
while
we declared
our fucking love
they
were busy
bickering over alms.
Grief Counselor
I know death
sucks, my
child.
Let me comfort
you like
prayer.
Undress and move
your smooth
legs
here. Relax over
my sympathetic
lips,
my gently pulsing
tongue and
fingertips.
sucks, my
child.
Let me comfort
you like
prayer.
Undress and move
your smooth
legs
here. Relax over
my sympathetic
lips,
my gently pulsing
tongue and
fingertips.
Old Age
1.
Wrinkled,
I still
float and chase
after
the smooth-
skinned young ladies.
2.
Strum
the lyre,
break into song:
O,
in her
violet-bearing robe,
wandering
openly, I
could love her.
Wrinkled,
I still
float and chase
after
the smooth-
skinned young ladies.
2.
Strum
the lyre,
break into song:
O,
in her
violet-bearing robe,
wandering
openly, I
could love her.
The World Does Not End
1.
Ages
from now
people will speak
about our love—
what it
meant—
although
they mightn't
recall our names.
2.
They should know:
what we
have
has
nothing to
do with your
golden delicious tits
and twinkling
star.
Ages
from now
people will speak
about our love—
what it
meant—
although
they mightn't
recall our names.
2.
They should know:
what we
have
has
nothing to
do with your
golden delicious tits
and twinkling
star.
Hermes and the Dark River
Gondola
rides won't
exist for years
but
they will
be like this.
May I kiss
the dewy
lotus
lying
there on
the river banks?
rides won't
exist for years
but
they will
be like this.
May I kiss
the dewy
lotus
lying
there on
the river banks?
On Beauty and Age
1.
Those
cupcake-breasted Muses
never grow old.
I could eat
them up,
ha!
2.
My melon breasts,
now wrinkled
prunes;
my bird-wing hair,
now spider
webs.
3.
Once
turned heads
when I danced
my fawn dance—
now I
fall.
4.
Why moan?
All of us
age.
At least
I still have
Eros.
5.
Old men
get it
the worst.
Especially those
who outlive
their wives.
Those
cupcake-breasted Muses
never grow old.
I could eat
them up,
ha!
2.
My melon breasts,
now wrinkled
prunes;
my bird-wing hair,
now spider
webs.
3.
Once
turned heads
when I danced
my fawn dance—
now I
fall.
4.
Why moan?
All of us
age.
At least
I still have
Eros.
5.
Old men
get it
the worst.
Especially those
who outlive
their wives.
Sweet Girl
Dawn's
a push-over,
spreading for anyone.
Even alone she
rosy fingers
herself,
hoping
it brightens
the loners' days.
a push-over,
spreading for anyone.
Even alone she
rosy fingers
herself,
hoping
it brightens
the loners' days.
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