Monday, January 3, 2011

Response to "amarachi by night": For the Dreamweaver and his lovely Rosa.

words  are not
enough
i need finger-pad
in that well where
neck meets two
collarbones
meets the stretch of
skin taunt against body
frame formed for love
and living 
twin-towers naked against the
elements
leaning towards
Latin layered crescendo of crazed aria
 insouciant operetta,
calculated madness,
sensational passion,
endless adulation,
sublime adoration.

She is light
that paints
shadow pattern latticework with
your darkness,
crimson flow of
atonement for sins
hidden in blind corners of
your soul
accident prone carnivore
you devour your victims still
warm from the kill
She is rest to
harried screams of
choo-choo train wheels
careening through
track  of
your wandering mind
withered heart
She bleeds into your
bone dry ventricles
channels clogged with
debris of broken dreams and
dusty desire
my brother in
weary journey of loves
too quickly found just as
quickly gone
let her breathe
Jehovah-love
into your
prison chest of
yellowed lace memories
let her read you soliloquy from
the mind of grandames of neo-soul
let this Chemistry set you free
my mind-over-these-matters-brother-lover
may your intellectual kinship
ever bring to mind your heavenly kingship
paint your thoughts in
bright colors of that
ancient rainbow
let her remind you of
rain
sweet
sustenance from
heaven’s gardeners
diligently bidding you to
burst into a sturdy sycamore.

I speak of you our Nikolai Gogol from the edge of the sub-saharan West…you genius of words…and your darling Rosa …no one else.

"Amarachi by Night" by the Dreamweaver

Words are not 
enough.
I need the sinew 
of bone/the
propitiation of blood, 
of heart, of touch 
to seal 
the spell of
the Magister's 
enchantment..

Safe, sweet 
and sorry 
have never 
been enough.
I need 
an edge 
of darkness; 
Deep storms 
of feeling 
that cruelly
lash 
into vulnerable 
places or strum 
the strings of 
desire.
That is the secret 
of my loving; 
that edginess/darkness/
madness; those
tiptoes of fear, 
foreboding and
helpless wanting; 
the carrot 
& stick of touch/
the opera 
of anger/the 
dirty dancing/the 
double-edged sword 
of remembering.
I speak of love
for Rosa
and no other.