124

Posted on June 8, 2010 by urbansonnets

My project is so silent, so silent:

to confound and confabulate races
with a single multiple stroke, violent
against coterminous culture spaces:
To delimit the nature is to cut
away the off-putting mess of nature;
you can have your dream and happiness, but
there are bodies sweating bricks to suture:
I may seem dense, but it is a just swarm
of ideas and notions to grapple;
I'm never on vacation where's its warm,
though I can consume a Suriname apple:
I don't know if I believe Paradise
can be. I'm here to watch as that dream dies.
 
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123

Posted on June 7, 2010 by urbansonnets

I find meaning in the eyes that look out

like exhaust in the air, flapping like curves,
moving like the vicissitudes of doubt,
seeing little, and bending 'round like curbs:
Somehow, though, people miss the point in me,
which has always been to face up to love,
and I'm forced to paint a tenebrous sea
with the bleak depth of my visceral bluff:
You've bit, you've felt the punch on that bright eye,
turn dark like the sea, impenetrable
after the moon looms through the clear night sky,
and the earth throbs, and you feel unstable:
Yes, the bruise reflects the sky at nighttime;
I'd dress it, if you'd let me daub some slime.
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122

Posted on June 4, 2010 by urbansonnets

What more could I ask for in this long life

but a healthy portion of fresh patience?
While the world turns I post up, fragrant, rife
with silence, in the vortex of passions:
From the terroir of three thousand rosebuds
I grew strong, bold, sweet and thin like tree stems
tapped for chicle – They sapped all of the woods
for want of my fluid, my liquid gems:
But I was rubber, not gum, so they failed
to stick my essence to any meaning;
"This bark was louder than that bite," I wailed – 
sheets of sighs, as my sang streamed out shining:
Listen to the rustlings; the universe
riddles through trees, seas on its fickle course.
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121

Posted on May 30, 2010 by urbansonnets

I have fallen over the precipice

so many times now that time passes slow,
that I'm impassive before the abyss,
as one who knows well that it's time to go:
But go where? This is a major question
that we must address before we proceed –
Would you happen to have a suggestion? –
Somewhere fertile in need of grace and seed?
Or someplace arid, barren and in vain
that might need a change of inspiration,
like magic medication for the brain
that takes the edge off our desperation:
There are rich people and poor ones, we say,
but things feel way too casual that way.
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120

Posted on May 20, 2010 by urbansonnets

The coast is clear for nomadic intrigue;

let the great gray horde slalom into place
in space that spans an historical league,
where earth is fruitful, but the seed disgrace:
I've done no wrong, but we must be undone,
unhinged and unlocked, gunned down by the mass
of floating smoke; the masses loom as one,
and I inhale, exhausted after class:
She wears a gold bullet around her neck,
on a string, of course, but where is the gun
that embraced the air, worthed out of space wreck? 
And what is her name, her hair a frayed sun?
You could call her Laura, but the crown fell,
shot off by a drunk playing William Tell.
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119

Posted on May 19, 2010 by urbansonnets

I transit between the crystalline flow

of the unheard fountain that rests beneath
the windowpane watch of my weary woe,
and the air, transparent like a clear wreath:
There is dew in the haze, and my eye dies;
cries, I mean, cries out from inside my dreams
the mysterious voice of truths and lies
that lies in the void between shouts and screams:
The vacillation is light; the air sounds
like a seashell's shout across the desert
as oceanic oasis, redounds
off the winding wall that, writhing and hurt,
parries toward sandy stones that steel this tower
the note that trickles into my ear, sour. 
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118

Posted on May 13, 2010 by urbansonnets

The scene: a bar where palm fronds leaf the wall;

The time: around noon and the sun is high;
The vibe: saturated colors, lights drawl;
The deal: over handshakes, my insides sigh:
I am a pedestrian eccentric,
in a world of sun, glares and sticky palms;
I look left – while my compatriots look
askance at my bright presence – and stay calm,
since I know change is coming, by hook/crook:
I must go take a swim in the livid
blue pool, chlorinated just to remove
the ineffable stain of thoughts limpid
against our obscurantist grotto groove:
I guess that's why vacations must exist –
Paradise the payout – cest action gist. 
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117

Posted on May 12, 2010 by urbansonnets

Possibilities are endless in life,

if you keep yourself open to the flow
of air and ideas and tactful strife,
of water, the depths where memories go:
I remember you smiling, working fast
with a pen in hand and such wondrous eyes,
jotting down sights that, in a lifetime past,
we must have known straight-up, without disguise:
That's the power of wonder, it's magic:
that each novel vision shines like the past,
wrapped in the sheen of a lustrous distance
that elevates it to dream, for instance:
It is wonder when you pull back your ears
to cross the street, and the picture's so clear!
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116

Posted on May 11, 2010 by urbansonnets

We must now repair to those currents passed

by our streaming drift through the middle-core
of ourself. I am less of a pilgrim
and more a man – We are peasants no more!
I work for the world; we toil side-by-side;
You are inside my rhythms like a beat
that never bears repeating – it just slides
through time, gliding on the skates of these feet:
I'm allergic to the winds that rustle 
through the cornfields, but we keep on husking,
just as twisted minds will always tussle
with the straight ones, though their era's dusking:
Look into the stars, look left at the sea;
They bid that we trade our "I" for their "we".
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115

Posted on May 7, 2010 by urbansonnets
I woke up this morning fully awake,
I think, with a full arsenal of thoughts,
ready to do those tasks I oft forsake
because my mind is a bundle of knots:
I don't know if this freedom will endure,
freedom from the haze of the broad and deep,
but in this moment of gentle censure,
I've put down my worries and made the leap:
And the leaves and wind roar in unison,
as the heat buzzes through the window screen –
an urban trellis, through which climbs the sun
into the space to grow over the spleen:
And I dive down into my deepest dream –
it's easy like apple pie and ice cream.
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