Friday, June 1, 2007

D. Garcia-Wahl

Descending From Cain

Even by sight or breeze
of my open window, I know not
if this is a summer or a winter
No season reborn for the man in wait
Beggars want wine and coins,
not postcards
They slur their poetry, tattoo their mark
on the softer man,
suffer and fall away

What is made of man, if not fool
For man is sacrifice
Man hears the heart bells but does not know them
Man seeks courage in displeasure
as the shepherd of guilt
or a thief who’s only option is the dark
They struggle in a gardenless bloom,
suffer, and fall away

There is nothing more to sleep
but to sleep

The Remains Of Purpose

It’s a fundamental sin -
the thought that rivers to your hands
There is no shame or apology
for the living
or a quote
When we die we die alive
And every Spring the rains will come
to pull us on toward delusion

At the Shepherd’s watch
less a balance between
than a division of
what I know
a clay beggar’s bowl of graceful prayers
and a mat of simple straw

Amy Nude Ascending

She to wake me eager of tip and tongue

all at the risk of desiring

what would drown the heartier man

She rises

having held my hand to myth

She rises

with flesh as perfect as the feathers that shape the swan

She rises She rises

soon to tea, soon to morning’s confessional

soon to whistle

She rises

to a feral light

in which no smile can dim

She rises unabridged, she rises gilded

She rises in the quell of yesterday

She rises having stolen the rain

Rising as that blameless thief

She rises She rises

She moves to what will move me

She has led me to where she goes

Should it happen dreams pull me again from her:

Bite at this heart ‘neath naked breast

Plum Solace

Let memories share
in what they cannot answer
bringing forth what is left
to the back of the mind

A child
gone lone to the grove
beneath trees with dense branches
that the sunlight barely breaks through
where wind cannot
and just enough to illuminate shadows of this youth
taking in the perfume of the nectar
dripped to the ground
in mindful breathes
Singing rhymes to the dream of love
Kneeling to the fixed ground
Balanced prayers for dignity
and the lastings of youth
and in a final naive wonder
takes a bite of the sweet fruit
to cut the agony of becoming a man

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