Saturday, November 5, 2011

when as yet no poem had any title as such

when thursday is yet untainted by friday's determining owls
when the cylinder yet unpowdered stands gently at attention
when morning means one full day is yet unused
when friday is not yet fooled by saturday's orgy in sunday's dumb sublimity
when there is as yet no bed made for abraham's isaac to be slain in
and a word like pesach is no different than niedziela
before one knew what one was doing so well it could be taught like art or murder
before we tried to buy something that hadn't yet been invented nor ever will exist
when i could do anything to my body knowing it would be healed miraculously
before it lay in the dust forgetting knowing nothing was something,
despairing that knowing nothing is nothing
before i glanced over my own face and saw how boring i must seem
before yesterday's flower formed a shadow over your angel's left shoulder
and the third dream's bite lost it's tail in the sun
and woke beside you who is ever what i wanted more than any dream
before any of this i was sleeping and turned from your face
and saw the divine ridges of Java's central garden
these green upon green steps for an unmanly heaven
and turned back to see a valley of rusty roses stumbling into bloom

april 21, poznan

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