by Ernesto P. Santiago
Hello, Pablo, nice to see you are here!
Not feeding the Bird? at A Lemon grove
that hums A Song of Despair, which appear
to be From--Twenty Poems of Love
that were forever Lost in the forest...
of Nothing But Death, where a Tower Of
Light has not been, and never been, at best
Leaning Into The Afternoons of life,
nor In My Sky At Twilight when I rest.
Like you, Fleas interest me so much...than wife
who From The Book of Questions seeks the Love
of Some Beasts or The Dictators who knife
the Cat’s Dream? The dreams, ah dreams that speak of
dreams! Us; We Are Many, Walking Around
by Your feet, by Your Laughter. Oh, yes! Oft
I like your hat that speaks, to me, of crown
and your coat, covering Clenched Soul of prose
that’s Drunk as Drunk like Enigmas of dawn,
but you know, I prefer you, much because...
Hmm, I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
and I Do Not Love You Except Because
I Love You, my Brown and Agile Child, heir
to sacred Canto XII from the Heights of
Macchu Picchu, where your speech filled the air.
And what is now? A Dog Has Died, your Love,
but why The Weary One?...still, The Light Wraps You!
Last updated October 23, 2011