Magic Lantern

È già spezzato il fiatto
e ricomincio a respirare
senza sforzo e senza affanno
-Carmen Consoli, Perturbazione Atlantica

A magic lantern could throw the nerves in patterns
on a screen:
of the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
of the sunsets, the dooryards, and the sprinkled
streets
of the novels and the skirts that trailed along the floor
of perfumes from dresses and restless nights
in one-night cheap hotels
and of half-desserted streets
that follow like a tedious argument
of insidious intent

the nerves of braceleted arms and arms in short-sleeves
of windows and tables and shawls
and cups, marmalade, tea
and cakes and tea and ices
of porcelain, teacups, toast

the patterns of the nerves within eyes that
fix all in formulated phrases
of the nerves of formulated men and women
pinned and wriggling and sprawling on walls
and this, and so mucho more!

All to make it possible to say just what I mean:
in short, that I was afraid.

For perhaps we're all meant to be both
Prince Hamlet and an attendant lord.
To somehow both drown,
and not.

There are old thoughts in your head, my reader, and let them die

Kissing the bankteller outside his stairs

In Brighton, MA I cannot lie. I felt the hope

That we once felt, if only for an instant

O the lovely bankteller, like a moose he

Rode my spirit quite outside my clothes

And chrysanthemums sprouted I assure you

Out my nipples when he kissed them.

And the pureness of not knowing him at all

Was really what we all feel when we enter this earth.

There is a newness to the best things that cannot

Be excelled and old things like old love die and rot.

There are old ideas in the world that should be forgotten

There are old ideas and old phrases that should at least

Be recycled for others

There are old plans now that should be new.

There are old thoughts in your head, my reader, and let them die.

Follow me, I am the crusader of the new

My spirit is a plastic rod that channels all our births.

And in the mouths of the little beasts, we shall find the great

Ocean that spits up black bugs all glittering on its shores.

You know there is an anthem to the ages.

There is an anthem of the ages.

This is that anthem

This is that anthem

Dorothea Lasky, "On Old Ideas"

Mock Moon

I like the sun
when the sun
is seen through clouds
and disguises itself
as the moon