corrupt the binds that hold you
but should you feel so inclined
do not waste what you do not have.
In altered zones of delight
I tumble through the days.
My lover comes and goes leaving me
lonely and politics is not soothing either.
I speak to America, You beautiful nation.
Beauty is not my friend
but the concept that governs is.
Read the lines on which your independence
rests you citizens of heaven.
The Congress, July 4th, 1776.
“The history of the King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpation, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States“.
“”Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it”
…writer and philosopher George Santayana
A Little Night Music
Life is a flinch of the
eye and love is a phantom
hiding in plain sight.
A sculpture of ice,
a thousand crystal droplets
strewn across the sky.
Touched by the tongue of a
a flame becoming the sun,
tonight I need to start a fire
I’m as cold as the midnight moon.
When I spread my wings
I feel the pull of freedom.
I spread them wide and trail
my shadow the way birds do.
Your hands are elegant thieves
your tongue a web of lies,
in this desperate nest of chaos
When the veil falls apart and
daylight slivers through I can see
the slant of sky where you slipped in.
When I found you
I was not searching
beautiful and wild
our lids heavy with desire
we sipped Santiago raindrops
from our cupped tongues.
Tears of salt-rose fell from my eyes
at the hour of your departure and
my heart became a dying bird
it’s wings unfastened and open.
Night on the Island
by Pablo Neruda
I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.
I wonder about your kiss.
Is it the taste of sweet oranges?
Now Spring hovers at my lips and my
hair is filled with flowers.
For you a crown of fern and twigs
plucked from stones of a river.
Wrapped in the arms of a gentle breeze
I fear we will never kiss
still my memory loves you.
A Little Night Music…
*Sophie Zelman: Memory Loves You