Self-Portrait as a Mako Shark
I am the one who learned
what it means
to be an intruder, the one
who will not flinch at the thought
of being eaten alive. Because I am.
In the sea’s confusion
I find ways to keep swimming.
Brains, bones, silently…
in search.
An Idea I Had One Morning Listening to Thelonious Monk
like black cherries
without their skin
I was exposed
for the first time
by a willingness
to accept
his danger
a confusing
and secret universe
of violation
vibrating
with gratitude
and he kept me
alive
He walked with
me
to the edge
and over
He made sure
that I did not
spit out
his song
or choke on
its keys
a sound
stuck in my
teeth
like a
kernel
of corn or
a piece of
rare steak.
The more
I try to wedge
it out
the harder
it burrows into
the molars
like secrets
held between
the stars
and verdant grass
To Get
inside the melodious
pulsations of cells dancing
this poem becomes
a promise
a glass shield
around the flame of a candle
swept away like
early snow on tumbled rocks
like scars of love
and hate
this poem, simply here
simply now
in the solar plexus
moving together like
two sides of the shark
when it swims
Zen
selected by
the elements
you are my Blue
Mountain jewel
my eternal recurrence
made of sky
your fingers
slender like virgin pine
your glint
electrical like dewdrops
in the Sun’s reflection
falling asleep in the breeze
your lips
hungry with the fragrance of
daybreak, an empty valley
fractured by the boundaries
of physics, where you
can hear yourself happening
The Crowd
Until we finally choose to know each
other, we will run into each other
as molecules colliding.
We will be magical with
each other. Playing tricks
on the eyes, pressing
the cheekbones with sleight
of hand, like cards shuffled,
telling our stories
When we are most lonely
like interrupted
conversations
at the dinner table.
Sartre
What do you get out of it? In the end. When the
last act is over. What do you get when eternity is
not long enough? What do you do when the door is
just a door, and the flophouse is just a flophouse?
"LEGGI RELATIVI" POEMS BY GEORGE PAYNE: A Temple Concealed, A Salvaged Mosaic and more»
immagine: George Payne
