Three Poems
- Details
- Published on Tuesday, 25 November 2014 16:57
by George Zamalea
A DOG NAMED 'EVER-AGAIN' RUNS AWAY
I saw the eyes of 'Ever-Again' as I was
Passing in front of C.'s house,
Colorless and deep, against the morning of May
Looking left and right, with unwished waves,
A dog named 'Ever-Again', his woeful
Task remains, who runs away.
Arousing at length my curiosities, innocently
Of course, while at the same time,
My heart designed to live, learning
He was dying, and 'Ever-Again', who went
To C.'s house, and who starts dying there,
And the people from C.'s house have known him
As 'Ever-Again'.
For none of these gentlemen dared,
Or, busy as they were, took time to think
For a moment about 'Ever-Again', who went back and forth
To C.'s house, and who was already
Dead; everybody was astonished at
How this happened to ‘Ever-Again'.
THE RAT AND THE MONKEY
I did what the regular
Jupiter has done with the rat
And the monkey, said the useless
Brawnier under the stigmatic era, eaten them by tail,
Where the men and women are just unbreastless
In the growing whirl of useless love.
He brings the rat to the lab
And the monkey to the cage.
Rat looks at him: "Miserable! Bizarre sin!
I'm the monkey when beauty's genius
And the carnality of the franks does not have
The vigor of fire and of the night caravan.
I'm supposed to be there, where the fragrance
Of the lustful hole whose darkness
Has no respect for living, the shape
Of the moon with windowless witches!"
"You are, beast! You must be there.
And you will find it easier
Between anxious coition and the odorous
Crepitation of such wedding sense
Of being smart with lovely thing, that each
Coffin will send the same belly of such answer."
Monkey, jumping over stove and stove,
Then with the high gas behind him and passion
Written against the wall, finds his words
At last, “I’m the rat! The oozing blaze
Where the public decomposition beats down
My grass that voluptuous lips kiss
Whose freak sounds grimace along their pleasure.
I’m the rat, tomorrow or ever, and I’m supposed
To be here.”
“You are not! You must be there.”
And between the liquid of living and thirsty love,
The honey-bee sweeps over and the quaver
Madness dredged from his eyes strangely. “If you
Ought to be there, then beat it! Bring me
The reason sculpted by rapturous heart
And push then the peaceful misgiving of this last call
Made from hell!”
THEY KILLED HIM RUNNING
They killed him running
Naked down the street
When a man next to me asked what
Happened.
I thought to answer until
The sun obscured me without slashing
The last words, and I thought
I was still sleeping
With joined hands and muscles
In front of a leading mass.
I am still thinking. Can I answer
Him as a teacher to a student
In a restless room with the dreamy dreams
That were once a part
Of the hunting? Of course I should.
I closed my broken mouth
And put a hand on his shoulder:
Can you feel me? The whole body
Shaken and I know he got the message.
