Thursday, September 28, 2006

… the unreal half-artistic professions, which, while they pretend to be close to art, in practice deny and attack the existence of all art - as, for example, all of journalism does and almost all criticism…

R. M. Rilke.


LA MESA
AS SHE SPOKE TO ME
I WAS WRITING

Your face has
The perfect constellations

El silencio es una ventana
Para encontrar tesoros

Personal movements bring
Drops of revelry

Y las sonrisas
Se reparan
Con proteínas

Your eyes
Are crystals
Better than diamonds

Tus brazos
Y tus piernas
Son como
El mar
Pero viven
En las nubes
Del deseo

Your beauty
Is tall enough
To reach
My solar system


A POEM OF REMEMBRANCE
FOR RON COHN


Ron
I still remember
Your peculiar order
Your strange wish
Your tenebrous words

Your wantonness for
Something impossible
That lacerating message
Offensive movements
From your lips

I still recall
Your command:

“I want this place
Spotless like
A Cathedral”

I am sorry Ron
Your store
Is not a place
Of venerations
Your market
Worships the
Love of money

It’s going to take
More than
Illuminating rows
Of 1’s
(I am flattered)
To see better

It’s going to take
More than
Nickels and dimes
To repair the damage

Your place
Yes it’s dirty
With the blood
Of dead meat
And the stench
Of rotting fish

And I will continue
Cleaning it
Till it becomes
Spotless like
An Operating Room

Monday, September 25, 2006

REQUEST TO MY MANAGER

David
Give me Sundays off
Because of my
Sliced fingers
&
My shot meniscus

David Arias
Give me weekends off
And I will pray
To all the saints
For you

When you are
Fishing in the sea
On your nice boat
In a beautiful
Sunday morning

You can always
Use prayers
When you are
Deep in the waters