Two Poems

by George Zamalea

The Eyestone
 

In a burning hell my shell
Broken free and with it 
The parade of gashed angels moving in step
By the edge of the enormous
Galaxies starting to sing:
 
          I'm the sexier one you hate, you fool!
          I'm the uglier one you kill at last, freaky seer!
          I'm the seamier one you need to feed, you pervert!
          I'm the freakier heart you kiss at last, you bimbo!
 
So under the obscure curvaceous paths,
Where I am unfinished like a beast,
I am everywhere I am the real explorer
And if you do not believe me,
Go! Go! Go! To the hottest valley
And find underneath any rocks
The virgin snake and squeeze her to death.
 
Could you feel the strange sensation of emptiness?
Could you feel the fenestration of my fingers?
Could you feel the decontamination of my pain? 
Could you feel the warm blood running heavily through your large fingernails and palms? 
          Can you like it? 
          Can you feel it?
          Do you believe me now that I am a dangerous animal?
          Do you?
 
          Well, welcome to hell, my dear!
          Welcome to the same ghostly hour, 
Because there are few men who like it
And who love it...
          Just a few of them, my dear hawk!
 
          Now you will see you are going to vanish
Into you the veins of the sweetness of this flesh 
Explosion of your mind, like a rebirth circle, alone against
The black wall of your desire, not the limitless 
Thoughts of being your haymaker and the final deliverer,
          It will make you see a hibernal angel;
          The plotter, you are strong and sick and unique;
And again, and again the sound of Evil rebounds freely:
 
          I'm the sexier one you hate, you fool!
          I'm the uglier one you kill at last, freaky seer!
          I'm the seamier one you need to feed, you pervert!
          I'm the freakier heart you kiss at last, you bimbo!

          Ha! Ha! Ha!
          And the sky closes in.
          Ha! Ha! Ha!

 

The Black Spell Magic

At the foot of the Wichita Mountains
Where wolves and coyotes and foxes
Grew fat from human fleshes and hearts

          A Savannah’s eye reproduced an enormous

Screen of tropical meadow; a face
Lit up like gold underneath a bright shadow

          Fascinated by the comical unborn sigh

 

          Or the affection of an equal line:

Iodine lips totally visible come to me
Dancing in multiple but unusual fingernails

          Beware!

          This isn't God I am talking about.

          It's the Mind.

          The Beauty of Being Humans!

          As they turned fastest without faces

          Less weight than a body with a throne of cloud

          Detesting the picture filled with Wonders

          Their hands then hoof along their bodies

And shake them with large tongue and cracked heads.

 

          I think they're ghosts or pieces of dead flesh

          Coming with it! But wait!  

          The finite winter emerged from the emptied holes

Of their faces, looking around, as I was asking:

          "Are you Isis's maiden goddess from Egypt?

          "We're the Black Cloud...!

          The Spell!"

          We are the mutation

          We are the salutation

          We are the dilatation.

          We are the sickened love as tooth-like projections!!!!!!

 

          What do they want? Or have they just arrived

From vacations to visit the tribe of Azteca:

          Non-human here nor yellow toque or white

Snake who wished to gallop beside me. I'll not allow it.

 

          "Oh, no," they said. "We're the possessive snake!

The underworld journey and the breathing Grief

          Eventually it will bind you!"

 

And when they kiss my lips (hundreds of them!) these inflaming lips

          Under the cold water of this fallen afternoon,

In a reverberating wave below my kindling tunic

          I saw the transparencies of the stone

I received all the embraced ashes as an absolute

Night shifting into memory...

          The racing Mind!

 

A memory for a day or so

          Filled with passion in its possession

By the rumble glitter tits

          Tits of Velvet ants

          Tits of my own shadows.

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