Charmides
oligen orgen skips through the giant step
horses into Potidaea
as orders taken, given. your hands
across my escalating
surface. unrolling
her
slight
resistance. as
i grow dependent on the flow
and pressure. here, faint
ridges. your soft uneven. catch,
drag,
time,
deposit. yours
until lazy again. until we depart,
until we let loose
the battle. they had
been born into Potidaea.
//
slight
until we depart
until we let loose
the battle
they had been born
into Potidaea
(her) this very moment they were (surfeit)
by this(her) those having learned it(her)
// 153β
Ὀλίγον
ἐγεγόνει
ἐν τῇ Ποτειδαίᾳ
ἣν ἄρτι ἦσαν οἱ
τῇδε πεπυσμένοι
serious ontology
is fan service. you who are about
to read, please understand. he will be born
the dirtiest ever poem — a thrusting savior
delivering so many ins and outs.
our she-body-battle is hare to meet Rocky.
his being a-lie-high-hive — abs flashing
in gold lamé underwear — running
mascara like horses. out-of-bounds
kissing, destination sen-
sa-si
//
O Socrates —
which i was —
as he says
how do you thrust into —
were you saved from out of the battle?
// 153β
//
camp army camp
wild rabbit habit gone wild
and Chaerephon
being just such a maniac —
you leap up — leaping — jumping — springing forth
out from the center of a lute, vibrato —
out from your tightrope string —
out from her thorny mean —
both (of you) in the (briarpatch) habit —
and he is shining —
and he runs toward me, like a hare —
and of me —
as my most inexhaustible lover —
he takes hold — of
my hand —
// 153β
Χαιρεφῶν δέ
ἅτε καὶ μανικὸς ὤν
ἀναπηδήσας
ἐκ μέσων
ἔθει πρός με
καί μου
λαβόμενος τῆς χειρός
//
shall we
go
down
to the oracle
again
black milk glass
i look down at the body
to see what shape its in.
earth-born son, turquoise slap
of my mother against the golden-
bangled mother. i let them come.
my dark tongues flickering, my heads
Cancerian fire. every tip would touch you.
the shoulders of a bull, eyelashes lower
over tender pools obsidian. im a cow.
a ticket to the fight. my velvet
suit. warm press of skin.
i drink, i let it come.
dragging behind its un-
translatable blade.
//
Socrates: (in Charmides, cont.)
and in that same spot
i (they) take hold altogether of many
those (on the one hand) unknown by me
those (on the other hand) the most thoroughly-known
// 153α
animal event (at the school of Taureos)
into the animal event
i have been dragged and well
indeed
every year the same, i guess, except
this time
its me
and like the bull, whos horn, whos unbroken
rage
your hand anointed
when they seize the bodied, lashed and harnessed
nerve by muscle to
the craters edge
as trampled roses bruised into the pass
will grind in
to mud by mountain makers hooves
in magenta-black menstrual blood
my terror
my appetite
//
Socrates: (in Charmides, cont.)
and well indeed into the wrestling-
school of Taureos (where bulls are offerings)
straight down from the temple
of the Queen (of whom nothing is known)
// 153α
καὶ δὴ καὶ εἰς τὴν Ταυρέου παλαίστραν
τὴν καταντικρὺ τοῦ τῆς Βασίλης ἱεροῦ εἰσῆλθον
news of orchids
Phaedrus:
isn’t it overgrowingly (huper-phuos)
(in) other things
and also by the names (honomasin)
joined (together) (eresthai)
οὐχ ὑπερφυῶς
τά τε ἄλλα
καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασιν εἰρῆσθαι
//
yesterday, in the kitchen, our friend whos out
from prison, was sharing gossip about a junior
being caught and being sent to aranjep
over kampung coffee and orchid media.
and no, they never tell me how it works.
the violet news arrives always from inside
the shackled parallel, the humbled inflorescence.
recirculating sources its own mystery.
war-salvaged rumors from the streets are white
like mouses ears that dream into my peers.
we build them nests from all our mixed-up hair.
the silver blacks the blonde. the ashen thatch.
the trees trail overgrowingly through tails
and tubers until, tangled up, the bearded roots.
to found us here. among inmates and outlaws
and songs, as clove tobacco blanketed our evening.
did you know, they blow the breath of dust
until a fungus makes the faerie home?
a thinking blink is how they move from there
to here, a mayfly mask, the wake to name a wink.
the jungle knows no law, leastly, my wooden sanity.
and when reports an owling bloom, my nervous cell —
i dont believe in walls, i saw you on the battlefield, and
i dont believe youre dead, how could you trust me.
so we have come to be present, by the previous
of evening, out of Potidaea, from the army.
and as having arrived, through time, gladly
i go. and two-thirds of the words are backwards slang.
//
Socrates:
we have come to be present (hekomen)
by the previous of evening
out of Potidaea from the army-ground (stratopedon)
and as having arrived through time
gladly
i go
upon the together-dwelling (sunethes)
rubbed-throughs (diatribas)
ἥκομεν τῇ προτεραίᾳ ἑσπέρας ἐκ Ποτειδαίας ἀπὸ τοῦ στρατοπέδου
οἷον δὲ διὰ χρόνου ἀφιγμένος
ἁσμένως
ᾖα
ἐπὶ τὰς συνήθεις διατριβάς
//
🌒