NIGHT OF A LONER

How bitter the furniture are in the room of a loner.

The table resembles an animal frozen in the cold;

the chair looks like a child lost in the snowed up forest;

the couch is a naked tree pushed over by the wind.

Yet, in a while, something is conducted in here:

a round, diaphanous silence like the glass

of the boatman and you, stooped over that glass,

you see the lucid sunlit sea floor with its crystal,

            dark green schisms

with the exquisite sea verdure; you stare at

the rosy, apathetic, big fishes

with their wide, gentle movements and you don’t know

whether they look for something, they lurk, take

refuge or saunter aimlessly, since their eyes

are so wide open as if totally shut.

This however is irrelevant. Isn’t really enough

that their movements are both beautiful

           and motionless?

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/5pnz8y?page=1&pageSize=10

Fourth Canto

I stitch a leather latch on my door

keeping its serenity from copious

staggering fools laughing

as the ancient lascivious torch is lit

in the bowels of earth and

a battle of Giants reverberates

from one corner to another as

their God with stamina

of youth fights old cunning Death

over the meaning of a life or

a stigma the result being

leaves of grass stiffen against

the north wind and unfold their

satisfaction in sunshine’s arms

yet black velvet of

a hungry phallus climbs from

his subterranean realm to add

a laughing giggle to the lips of

day and turn ever-prosperous

fears to maverick months without

songs eluding to the graveness of this

absurdity and soil negates its

passive resolve to non-involvement

with opera music and spirited

fervor of lovemaking shredding even

the stiffest veil of darkness when

lips of the old woman with the

ironed breast lisps the strange

question and limp penis of

the old man ogling the moon

answers: I can do better

https://www.lulu.com/account/projects/y26q9n?page=1&pageSize=10