Thursday, January 21, 2010

I Know of What My Songbird Sings

I Know of What My Songbird Sings
L. Edgar Otto 01-20-10

it is not too late for you to awaken to love's song
you come to me who could crush you and I may want to
yet the gods forbid and exact a price from you and duty
as I in joyful faith will pluck from you your parasites

the jackass penguins bray as they only fly undersea
the red tailed hawk streamlined, swift through the tangled
canopy without the motorbike gang of the murderous crows
the drakes bite to blood with bills at the hen and her
brood the crows scavenge before hand and take from her to
the distance - youth foolhardy in abundance part of creation

you too, magpie of Nile fevers, believers one can dwell in
dumps find what the wasted treasure left in this world behind
I tie you to the bedpost, wore you out in dreams more real
You willing sacrifice, four burning wounds and and my spear of
inevitability and vinegar, we who fly reach for love's many mansions

a cross on a sphere shaking, shrugged holding up Atlas
overlooking the first of five volcanoes, your smoking mouth
your sharp teeth of obsidian, your pure what arms out
stretched spread the eagles wings, my fantasies half
humbled, our realities made safe our human song of higher
love that risks its privacy that it moves and hears the world

as you learn of this I can only rejoice your eyes have seen, felt
the truth of it that you grew feathers. adapted found purpose and
transcended lesser dreams but most of all that you were loved.

* * *

The Couch Surfer L. Edgar Otto 01-21-10

I was there at your heartbreak
but neither one of us aware of it then
Not you of mine though we both spoke Love
the first language of our birth

Though the symmetry broken, we walking
in a dizzy fog, lies our cradling cloak
Love, God's gift a joke full yet empty naked going through
the motions, susceptible to suggestibility

The pendulum swings in monotony lulling us to sleep and
we do not pretend we're more than the cued fake roles
Dancing like a chicken, we in drowsy sunrise our own chanticleer
'till thrice the threesome crows and treacle flow promiscuous clouds

Would I were a couch surfer, so short my pillow of your breast
Not that we don't want the rest, my time left for you another heartbreak at best

* * *
In the Lindees before Shades of West Windees 01-16-10 L. Edgar Otto

I would, if I could write her a book of poems
so overdone the theme of love, hard to find the new
I've written chapbooks before, some crush, vanity's comic farce

It would ring true and return her trust, the see-saw
of love and lust confused of lovers, friends, or fathers
We who could sleep alone together, share only crying shoulders

Yeah, right! as if I could touch her flesh and not desire to
keep her near and hold her tight, fulfill her craving need for
Clothes and beaus, orange blossoms on the mantle, lips ruby rose

I did not know her flower scent jasmine strong, while young -
O that I had a time machine- I sat by that flower tree with
The old men wearing Jackie Cooper hats smoking Rialtos and
roll-yer-owns in Nuevo Laredo back when

I never hung out in the Red Light District as ranchers, oilmen
and sailors are wont to do
Now no barrios to the wealth of cream and chocolate,
all the colors of her pixels fill all my space as her eyes see
Further than the boarders of the many worlds.

* * *

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