i think you will
set yourself afire
before you realise
that even you
cannot conquer the sun.
rebellion sits well
on you ; like a red coat
or the gilt gold burnish of youth.
( i do not believe we
shall ever see how old age
looks on you
you are breaking my heart. )
ELISABETH HEWER
The Boy I Love Left Me For A Revolution
J'ai entendu ta voix heureuse,
ta voix déchirée et fragile,
enfantine et désolée
venant de loin, et qui m'appelait
et j'ai mis ma main sur mon coeur
où remuaient
ensanglantés
les sept éclats de glace de ton rire étoilé.
( I hear your happy voice,
your torn and fragile voice,
childish and sad
coming from far away, and it called me
and I put my hand on my heart
where stirred
bloody
the seven glass splinters of your starry laugh. )
JACQUES PRÉVERT
Le Miroir Brisé
Death comes to me again, a girl in a cotton slip.
Barefoot, giggling. It's not so terrible, she tells me,
not like you think, all darkness and silence.
There are windchimes and the smell of lemons.
Some days it rains. But more often the air
is dry and sweet. I sit beneath the staircase
built from hair and bone and listen
to the voices of the living.
I like it, she says, shaking the dust from her hair,
especially when they fight, and when they sing.
DORIANNE LAUX
Death Comes To Me Again, A Girl
A happy ending? Sure enough — Hello darling, welcome home. I'll call you darling, hold you tight. We are not traitors but the lights go out. It's dark . . . His voice on tape, his name on the envelope, the soft sound of a body falling off a bridge behind you, the body hardly even makes a sound. The waters of the dead, a clear road, every lover in the form of stars, the road blocked. All night I stretched my arms across him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe. Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces. Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars. Names of heat and names of light, names of collision in the dark . . .
RICHARD SIKEN
Crush
So I am a seed. A recursive pattern. In that sense I am very old. Millions of years old. And I am everywhere. And I am you.
ANAND MALLAYA
"What The Heck Is A Fractal Seed?"