Charmides
his own death
πρὸς οὖν ἐμὲ ὁ Κριτίας
Ἔναγχός τοι
ἔφη
βαρύνεσθαί
τι τὴν κεφαλὴν
ἕωθεν
ἀνιστάμενος
ἀλλὰ τί σε κωλύει
προσποιήσασθαι
πρὸς αὐτὸν
ἐπίστασθαί
τι κεφαλῆς φάρμακον
nothing
(they are)(it was)i was(saying)
Critias calls
to the follower
and at once to the follower — Child
he was saying
(beauty)call(and
always be calling)
Charmides
καὶ ἅμα πρὸς τὸν ἀκόλουθον Παῖ
ἔφη
κάλει
Χαρμίδην
to the graveyard woman (who keeps his kid) (goat)
saying that i wish
(with)by the doctor
(you)to put it(self) together
(around)about the (she)weakness
of which before
(it)was telling(laying) me
that (it)(you)(are)weak
εἰπὼν ὅτι βούλομαι αὐτὸν
ἰατρῷ
συστῆσαι
περὶ τῆς ἀσθενείας
ἧς πρῴην
πρός με ἔλεγεν
ὅτι ἀσθενοῖ
and the blanket on his bed (small print re: freckles)
guess im on vacation yall
being told nothing
the valley out
dont forget to use sun protection
get your skin check
at the dermatolologist
sh(weakness)
🌕 x 3
worker bee
a flower said we were
too many words for work
we were begotten wrong
we were making matter
when we could make
matter some worth
sweet maybe
more work
more bee
bee scent between
her mythic mouth
her freckled breath
//
but beautifully
(it) was saying
(you) speak
and (we are)(were)(will be)(beauty)summoning it(self)
ἀλλὰ καλῶς
ἔφη
λέγεις
καὶ καλοῦμεν αὐτόν
155α
//
(myth of a honeybee)
🌕
just fruit
here boy
here boy
its just fruit
this is what you want
dont be ashamed
dont turn it off
your daddys nearby
theres nothing to fear
nobody even
to break a law
why not come through
and come here for me
show me power
show me milk
show me honey
here boy
here boy
its just fruit
//
but what(why) not
(you) show-off the youth for me
(you) (beauty)call(ing) (him) here
for not even (if) somehow if yet
he was happening being younger
(would it be) shameful (if)
(they were)(he was)i was(saying)
for him(self) to dialogue for us
at least opposite you
being at once (his) (turn-on)trustee and cousin
ἀλλὰ τί οὐκ
ἐπέδειξάς μοι τὸν νεανίαν
καλέσας δεῦρο
οὐδὲ γὰρ ἄν που εἰ ἔτι
ἐτύγχανε νεώτερος ὤν
αἰσχρὸν ἂν
ἦν
αὐτῷ διαλέγεσθαι ἡμῖν
ἐναντίον γε σοῦ
ἐπιτρόπου τε ἅμα καὶ ἀνεψιοῦ ὄντος
155α
prince of a triple-ply turn-on
from afar he turns me on
i am a shuddering tree
his hands all over me
leaves on my limbs
belonging and dying
i reach toward a second son
tight grips after gentle strokes
this beautiful(wood)(line)binding
he makes me
he makes me feel
he wakes me up
when i am a real woman
//
indeed this
(they were)(it was)i was(saying)
O beloved Critias
from afar to you(all)
(is) the beautiful(wood)(line)
(you)descend(s) from kinship with Solon
155α
τοῦτο μέν
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ
ὦ φίλε Κριτία
πόρρωθεν ὑμῖν
τὸ καλὸν
ὑπάρχει ἀπὸ τῆς Σόλωνος συγγενείας
alone on earth
on a woven plastic recliner
in the garbage-strewn sand
as dawn reaches across the sea
with icy fingers of peach and violet
that my phone cant capture
not only because its broken
after seven years of coercion
i am surrounded by beach dogs
wagging tails and paws searching
me for snacks and company which
i surrender as i pat and scratch many
ears and necks and sleek black faces
and nuzzles of muzzles into my arms
they bury me in a serious welcome
the poet was blind so
hes brushed by the rosy fingers
hes drinking the wine-dark sea
the sunrise is a sweet dream
a momentary pouring out
onto me and all of these excited dogs
its shocking hot pink illusion
//
altogether yes
(he) Critias was saying
(since)(you are) (by you)(look you) and (he) is
both a lover of wisdom and
as it seems both to others and to (it)(him)self
altogether poetical
καὶ πάνυ γε
ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας
ἐπεί τοι καὶ ἔστιν
φιλόσοφός τε καί
ὡς δοκεῖ ἄλλοις τε καὶ ἑαυτῷ
πάνυ ποιητικός
154ε
ocean the willbending
if a lyre already stripped
is down to this (your)self itself
then dont we gaze upon
sheer human (im)possibility
for anyhow, somehow
he is, you are (what then)
so grown (as) being already
pleasures willing dialogue
//
what then
i said
dont (we) strip this (him)self itself
and gaze (at it)
before the form
for anyhow
somehow
(he is)(you are)
so grown (as) being
already (pleasures) willing to dialogue
τί οὖν
ἔφην
οὐκ ἀπεδύσαμεν αὐτοῦ αὐτὸ τοῦτο
καὶ ἐθεασάμεθα
πρότερον τοῦ εἴδους
πάντως γάρ που
τηλικοῦτος ὢν
ἤδη ἐθέλει διαλέγεσθαι
154ε
myth of the selfish midwife
selfish, ungrateful
manipulative, greedy
inconsiderate woman
the sea is a selfish midwife
this poem comes to me, as he
is saying something else
her puckered source of salt draws out
like purgatory the glistening thread
of all my mouthy, breezy sins
her crashing whites are drawing nearer
and bringing forth a warmer roaring
her blues will dominate the world-under
even the maskmakers handsome face
with dancing with her distance cant compete
none other would appear
(instinctively my husband takes
out the surfboard and somehow my eyes
are lost between breakers
(now the man has set up a beach office
collecting pieces of coral and driftwood
for future homes for orchids
(as he is practicing a bamboo flute
i notice his wild and silvery hair
his carving arms, his shoulders framed with care
(his body, copper-brown in the dappled shade
it could be mine and not too far away
in udeng and a black sarung . . . )
but the point of being at the sea
is being at the sea, so i give up
i leave my towel and my things behind
and i rush into her jade-blue embrace
its just me, bare and pink under the sun
and all of me belongs to her
until he follows me into the waves
where he receives
whats his
//
and somehow its (conspicuously) fitting
O Critias
(for) him(self) to be such
at least being of yalls house
but
he said
(he) is perfectly beautiful and good
too (in) these (things)
πρέπει δέ που
ὦ Κριτία
τοιοῦτον αὐτὸν εἶναι
τῆς γε ὑμετέρας ὄντα οἰκίας
ἀλλ᾽
ἔφη
πάνυ καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός ἐστιν καὶ ταῦτα
154εf
anima lover
be
be still
if still to me
still to my body
one (releasing and binding
and needful and releasing) alone
(you) happen(s) to be drawing near
you feel my heart(beat)
its some small tempest
our little sea in a bigger sea
where there is no shallow
the light never goes out
only my color changes
you make it easy
when you open me
your iamb oyster
the sky is full of pearls
and one small cry to let
you know youre really in
if (she)(they were)(it was)i
was(saying) (you)happen(s)
well (having)brought forth
life-breath
//
if still to him(self)
one
releasing and binding
needful and releasing
alone
happens (to be) drawing near
some small (what)
what said (he) Critias
if (she)
(they were)(it was)i was(saying)
(you)happen(s) well (having)brought forth
life-breath
εἰ ἔτι αὐτῷ
ἓν δὴ μόνον
τυγχάνει προσὸν
σμικρόν τι
τί; ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας
εἰ τὴν ψυχήν
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ
τυγχάνει εὖ πεφυκώς
154δ
//
psuche
american shade (lost verse)
where i wait a stranger shape
every wave is washing dry and clear
a seashell is a hollow place
an island is an ariel escape
hibiscus flowers are growing near
i put one behind my ear
taste the battle, taste the fear
and when the wind blows straight through here
salt in the chorus
//
and the others were really same-saying
same as these with Chaerephon
i, Heracles, was saying
as (one) battle-less
(unconquerable)
yall speak of the man
συνέφασαν οὖν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι
ταὐτὰ ταῦτα τῷ Χαιρεφῶντι
κἀγώ Ἡράκλεις ἔφην
ὡς ἄμαχον
λέγετε
τὸν ἄνδρα
154δ
//
at the beach
for Cancer season
🌗
american shade
well that was a beautiful city
i think he had a beautiful tan
i heard he tried to make peace
in the tropical asian southeast
left footprints on bigfoot and a beach
made marilyn milkmaid the moon
runaway chevy fifty-seven bridegroom
the flag that got left on her face
and then he lost interest
when he lost faith in my body
i assumed it was me, in washington d.c.
my mother my father implicitly
somersaulting the scene
there were sprinklers and sparklers
and lipgloss from a rich invitee
at my eleventh birthday party
so it must have been me
was i jackie or sara
should i have offered my face
like courtney then lana and everyone else
become a magazine fiction
lolita fillers, no filters, no friction
trade a dick in for my diction
go down for an icy-hot la embrace
but i assumed it was me
i bought in, i got out, i was clean
now im your summer ambition
if you cut me down to your size
you can grab me by the waist
be the one to take me back
if you put me in my place
will you teach me willing words
will you rearrange my face
i strip naked for a tune
if you touch me like i touch me
reach for my dangerously thin body
when i put makeup on my eyes
i can still look twenty-one
its when i start to cry for him
its clear im done and dying again
but now that ai fills the sky
we could really write a hit
throw pinecones from behind a tree
and when you dont show up for it
ill cry for a squirrel
he got famous with a book
from a girl it took the look
but it will never be okay
for me to hook an iamb
i tried to be a flesh machine
i fucked the literary scene
all the women there were mean
and the fathers gave me hpv
i thought it was a dog disease
that was the shape of me then
when he lost faith in my body
and i assumed it was my face
i took ballet classes in houston
practiced lightning earns his grace
i was too stubborn, it was me
everyday a tempest fought a system
i parted so many ways i parted
the ocean
even so, most days i dont know
if i can make promises again
even for roses, violets for you
eve or the planet or my ghost best friend
for who made me, who left me, i left him
cherry-black abortion vasectomy
and he was a baby then too
and i know what it looks like now
babies having babies
he was the last american man
it was a dream and he was dead
before my life even began
face of an unsolved mystery
slid right through when previously
sleeping through history
i assumed that bob did it
but it was just he, most easily
who delivered the unfortunate news
//
nevertheless, this
he was saying
if he would be willing to strip
he would seem to you to be faceless
so all-beautiful is the form
οὗτος μέντοι
ἔφη
εἰ ἐθέλοι ἀποδῦναι
δόξει σοι ἀπρόσωπος εἶναι
οὕτως τὸ εἶδος πάγκαλός ἐστιν
154δ
as the tombstone of a dead president
oh sally, oh sally
its always been you
youve always been my one
let me sign that draft
with autopen, in-de-pen-
dence dec-la-ray-shun
did even tender roses
launder their senses
inside the wicker fences
at monticello
//
and (he) Chaerephon(you
summoned)ing me
what to you
appears t(he) young man
(he) was saying
O Socrates
(is he) not handsome (?)
154ξ
καὶ ὁ Χαιρεφῶν
καλέσας με
τί σοι
φαίνεται ὁ νεανίσκος
ἔφη
ὦ Σώκρατες
οὐκ εὐπρόσωπος
my beauty and her body (nightdiving)
i.
my beauty, a green-haired, green-
breasted mermaid, goes diving
at night, for him
the younger i become
the more my body needs him
the more of me belongs to him
as a girl, i carried a memory
of breathing (in
and out
and dying, for him
and out
and down) into the fear, i carry
my memory of you
cool cells makeout warm blackness
your fish glistens for the light
my listeners listen for
i float around your parts, so delicate
my cinammon-green lips
dont trust the stars
ii.
my beauty is a woman of middle-age
her body is a school of fish
and the (part), our (part)
the (part) yielding to (his) man
(was yielding to) the wondrous
(they were)(i was saying)
but i also for (all) the children
i(they) offer mind(fulness)
how not one at another of them
(selves)(it) is looking
nor even whoever is the smallest
(they were)(i was saying)
but all as at an idol (our parts)
are gazing at (him)self
//
καὶ τὸ μὲν ἡμέτερον
τὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἧττον
θαυμαστὸν
ἦν
ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ καὶ τοῖς παισὶ
προσέσχον τὸν νοῦν
ὡς οὐδεὶς ἄλλοσ᾽
ἔβλεπεν αὐτῶν
οὐδ᾽ ὅστις σμικρότατος
ἦν
ἀλλὰ πάντες ὥσπερ ἄγαλμα
ἐθεῶντο αὐτόν
🌒
personal update-down pineapple bao
to all my soft and sparkling followers, id like
to let you know. our beloved balinese brother is home
for now, in time for galungan, from intensive care,
where he was treated for the justin bieber disease.
yes, its when a childhood wildness comes back
as a virus inside your ear. presently, hes some
recovery to do. american girlhood, dont miss-
understand. these capes wear existential lapses.
sometimes your favorite puppet cant just play
your pretty name. a golden raincoat needs privacy.
sometimes a badboys moves are therapy. dont let
his face diminish the sweetness of his jam.
involuntary sat at so-called ceremony, of tea or
pure-grade ubudiana bullshit,
it was with these words she introduced herself
to the zenned-out russian maha influencers.
and as i accepted a dainty cup of jade
from an old-country double, i was struck silly
by the vanillic ozone and petrichor
of oligarchic hospitality.
the tea master, in peasant-dress, pretended not
to know who justin bieber was. so i
pretended not to notice i had spilled a sin,
some dribbled period across the spotless decor.
i dig your strychnine vibe, i said, having failed
to contain the strata of my napoleon. before
the maskmaker paid for our takeout vegan bao
and whisked me out, on our way back to kasih ibu.
//
but many other lovers
(it was binding
it was needful)
and into those
were following in the rear
πολλοὶ δὲ δὴ ἄλλοι ἐρασταὶ
καὶ ἐν τοῖς ὄπισθεν εἵποντο
// 154ξ
Selamat hari raya
Galungan dan Kuningan 🌾
tendrils in a warm pumpkin patch
dancing is bondage in freedom
my feet belong (to you, to you)
my eyes belong (also to you)
so that they and i were (glutting ourselves)
having been struck out (of ourselves)
having been thrown into bewilderment
my feet belong (to you, to you)
my eyes belong (only to you)
my ears are the shape of secrets
when he was entering
//
οὕτως ἐκπεπληγμένοι τε καὶ τεθορυβημένοι ἦσαν
ἡνίκ᾽ εἰσῄει
//
changed “seemed” to
“appeared” for ephane
but (the shining of)
all the other (words)
by me at least
(it doesnt care)
it was binding
were (one-)seeming in love
it was needful
(the quiet hurt)
of (your)self
all the other (words)
//
οἱ δὲ δὴ ἄλλοι πάντες
ἐρᾶν ἔμοιγε ἐδόκουν αὐτοῦ
154ξ