Verses/Curses
when god comes through (the family)
whats aorist is prologue proves
whats epilogue too poor
my past-progressive cousin turns
world future-perfect war
my uncle means the tyranny
what notes a slippery noose
what wills the wise unwilling wipes
my riverrunny nose a name of Zeus
//
Charmides
the son
of Glaucon
our uncle(godproblem)
and my cousin
Χαρμίδην
τὸν τοῦ Γλαύκωνος
τοῦ ἡμετέρου θείου ὑόν
ἐμὸν δὲ ἀνεψιόν
(i)(have seen and) know (him) of course
(flow)by Zeus
(i am)(they are) i say
οἶδα μέντοι
νὴ Δία
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ
//
family tree
one
the wise only
(to be) called un-wills
and wills Zeus
name
🌘
double-bound helix
returning from battle
(i am) (they are) i say
(he) is who and of what
somehow you know
(it) says but (the other)
was not yet grown
before your going away
//
somehow you (have seen and) know (him)
(he) was saying
but (he) was not yet grown
before your going away
cakewalk wyrm
fully here, Scorpio on fire, desire
that leash, your name, the tether-flame to tie
me to it, body to my well, the tight-
rope pulling is a verdant death-rape game
of a gemstone-encrusted whether force
recoiling howl inside a leather word
inside the naked thing, and the wing will
be tipped, he will enter the gymnasium
a gnawing question, hour, what is a who
without the hollow, willing, who is the what
without a whip, feather, let my lip
suck it out, daddy, let my nerve drip
and swerving slip the girl awake, winner
enough to make her winter-tender bowl
sing, never his song enough, ever
the pelvis for a manifest parade
to lead a pussy through the willow, dance
me round the mountain, wind-out of a plum
prison, iamb virgin, i am vision
iamb-submission of a cakewalk wyrm
//
but (he) is
(i am) (they are) i say
who and of whom (or what)
ἔστιν δέ
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ
τίς τε καὶ τοῦ
154α
witch piece cake
in skin prick, i fly across oceans
arrive on the lotus-letters island
of the long-lost highland kingdom
stir and spell a terrible journey
through holy wood by central castling.
to announce my flawless fingers
persuade his drawbridges lowered
which were guarded by a giantess
and cross over the lava moat.
with clean hair only do we enter
the dragon reception, a masque
of marbles clouds and berries.
here is where i will eat out
the remainder of my salad days
sweetly, sing the saffron rage of birds.
with which natural-born prince
whisper in the quartz crystal ball
an uncomplicated lover, yes —
of inexhaustible grief and faith
in these wettest, wildest dreams.
but it appears to me
indeed he
(himself) nearly
already (pleasures)
perhaps
to be
approaching —
//
why she (of all those now)
because she is a world
as meditation —
are you noticing each bare blade
of grass, cut green as a fiery warmth.
because immanence, though shy,
is penetration —
are the rays of the sun shining
into the cells of a golden meadow.
because these happening, all in a rush —
are the (ones) running headlong and entering
in advance, are the lovers and the beloveds
of the (one) seeming to be most beautiful
of all those now.
//
οὗτοι γὰρ τυγχάνουσιν
οἱ εἰσιόντες πρόδρομοί
τε καὶ ἐρασταὶ ὄντες
τοῦ δοκοῦντος καλλίστου εἶναι
τά γε δὴ νῦν
in a moment
the broad brim of my hat
never did conceal
the quick movements of
my eyes. but i put it on
for you.
after the first glass
or two, my high heels
wouldnt hurt so much.
i would be ready
for dancing.
//
(around) about the beautiful ones
he said
O Socrates
in a moment it seems to me you’ll (rush in and) know
περὶ μὲν τῶν καλῶν
ἔφη
ὦ Σώκρατες
αὐτίκα μοι δοκεῖς εἴσεσθαι
witch in the fire department
hid underneath my flowy dresses draped
in cool blues and soothing beachy tones —
i cant help it, i confess it, father —
i am a woman on fire.
and when i spy them entering a door
i watch their simple, rugged carelessness
and how they handle one anothers
bodies beyond all clothes or covers . . .
as leaves are born in screaming reds
and oranges each wicked September,
so i am born again into this burning
and my roaring flesh becomes the tinder —
and if i cry for help, it only brings them closer —
this crucible — my rose garden — a hose, for water —
//
and Critias
looking towards the door
seeing some young men entering
and (playing?) abusing one another
and another crowd following in the rear
καὶ ὁ Κριτίας
ἀποβλέψας πρὸς τὴν θύραν
ἰδών τινας νεανίσκους εἰσιόντας
καὶ λοιδορουμένους ἀλλήλοις
καὶ ἄλλον ὄχλον ὄπισθεν ἑπόμενον
bare blade of grass
is it different to use a knife
on wood than on flesh?
doctors use knives now
to carve out faces.
they cut eyelids and noses,
they cut lips and jaws.
they cut silent words
to feed the switch.
i put it on a page,
skin should touch skin.
i write it, over and over,
this is not my face.
this is not your face,
i write it, over and over.
somewhere, i hear, we are
born young and beautiful.
//
and about the young
whether any in them(selves) carrying over
would have been been born in
to wisdom or beauty or both
περί τε τῶν νέων
εἴ τινες ἐν αὐτοῖς διαφέροντες
ἢ σοφίᾳ ἢ κάλλει ἢ ἀμφοτέροις
ἐγγεγονότες εἶεν
mother fracas
let her be a just peace
let her be, i want you to
her body is a blossom explosion
just pieces of anti-matter
Ophelia caught a breeze
gone girls light a starry sneeze
to court and spark her in a slow
and simultaneous supernova
love is a universal trigger
her laughter is a harsh word
(t)his life left an uncontainer
and a pistil to uncontain her
unlisted numbers are falling
from a pretty strung-out tree
unstopped daughters are falling
unvesseled veins of (void)milk
when her perfume gets you
death is still (dark)years away
go on, take everything
let her hold you, let her stay
//
(around) about the love of wisdom
how (she) would have (and hold)
the (things) now
moving (on purnama) with sisters R. and N.
yesterday, the family toppled
an altar and dug up the vessel
of ancestors who had been
held there in the earth.
they cradled the thing.
they placed it amongst sacred
objects and offerings on a truck.
they drove it across the island.
we drove it over and around
the lakes and the mountain
on roads like melting hairpin loops.
we called them wrinkles.
we arrived at the older
the older-newer
present home
where home would be.
they placed the ancestors
underneath the altar
in the older shrine, to be
held there in the earth.
over sticky jajan and sweet coffee
we were laughing about
how complicated everything was.
any simple story.
imperfectly
a jepun tree was in bloom. the night
sky was almost free of clouds,
turning and keeping it alive.
//
and after we have had (or held) our fill of such as those
in turn i was questioning them(selves)
about the (things) by this
ἐπειδὴ δὲ τῶν τοιούτων ἅδην εἴχομεν
αὖθις ἐγὼ αὐτοὺς ἀνηρώτων
τὰ τῇδε
dry season blues
im posting from the backseat of a car
caught in a family conflict today
there is a freedom that comes to my imagination
but not inside this atmosphere
maybe the minimum temperature here
maybe the maximum temperature there
and strapped into this turbulence
with too much motion for me to move
i could make so many calculations
but couldnt do poetry to save my life
//
therefore sitting-down-beside
i was greeting Critias and the others
and i was guiding-through for them
those away from the army camp
whatever someone would ask me
i was questioning
they were questioning
and each was questioning an other
//
παρακαθεζόμενος οὖν
ἠσπαζόμην τόν τε Κριτίαν ἄλλους
καὶ διηγούμην αὐτοῖς
τὰ ἀπὸ στρατοπέδου
ὅτι μέ τις ἀνέροιτο
//
🌕
agon onomatos
outside of the boxing ring
the whos and whats
become a blur.
outside of our bedroom,
outside of our bed,
the same.
there is the one who put me here,
there is the one i face.
there is the rain.
all tongue,
all friction,
ugly against beautiful.
//
and at the same exact time
he sits me down
(and you sit down)
leading me
beside Critias
of Callaischros
// 153ξ
birth of a tragic aorist
i search history
for our battle
unsatisfied.
i search my search history
to set down (again) in words
paregenomen - for para-gignomai.
i see - to be beside, to be by, or to be near.
but clearly, these words lose gignomai.
they lose - coming into being.
para-gignomai is not - to be.
it is not - not to be.
but - becoming beside.
it is not - being there.
it could be - to become near there,
or - to come into being - beside.
i become beside.
i come-to-be beside.
i am born beside.
for not anything
up until this time
all clearly have i learned.
//
right here then
he says
sitting down for us
lead (us) through
for not anything
up until this time
all clearly
have (or had) we learned
// 153ξ
the witness
and true love drew a blinding triangle.
the first burn was hollow parallels
desiring scent. when nothing wood was new.
dustbody takes no refuge from a wave.
our battle comes in tangled limbs of loss.
pink button of a clove, warm feet of sandalwood.
the trust we nuzzle into his jugular.
heartsick, i beat myself for thirty years.
the last bird landing on his sea of troubles.
my stranded sail gets nailed at drowning depth,
lust-jumbled junk under a yellow sun.
i touch my hope to his bronze-burnished skin.
i am the phantom i have always been.
and true love draws a binding triangle.
//
do you come beside
(i am) he says
the battle
//
i come beside (her)
// 153β
bling
my dessert comes salted
her spoonlicked sins of virgins
her cruelty is caramel
my man comes from the desert
he tethers me with whispers
the musk of his camel
who am i
//
and the sending
fitting (you)
let go and loosened (upon you)
(i) am (it) is (they) are i say
has brought
(a message)
(wandered)
unconcealed
// 153β
καὶ ἐπιεικῶς
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ
ἀληθῆ ἀπήγγελται
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