The Poet He was always lost Because he had no direction Other than left to right Left to right And Down
His love Was endless And included Words And women
He loved The letter t At the end of Dreamt As if When he awoke At the end of Every dream Heaven would be waiting
And he wonders how The most idyllic places Nirvana Utopia Xanadu Have the most beautiful names And he wonders If there is a map Because he was lost And so out of place (He Is Here)* Like the letter t At the end of burnt Staring into the ashes Trying to find out What it all meant
He loved art Because it was so unique Just like the word itself And he knew how difficult It was to create And how easy It was to fuck up Just add The letter f And it gets Close to shit
He knew It was pointless To try To translate Poetry Or To try To write Poems When his dog Decided To rest Her head On his wrist
He hated poems That he did not understand And poems About poems And poems Poems Poems Poems That repeated words or had * strange in dent tations
For no reason And any poem That used the word Opaque
He knew His words Were never really His Nor were his ideas They came From beyond Which was why He was always having Metaphysical difficulties And this was why He had not yet decided Whether or not To believe In unicorns
Women Stole his thoughts Constantly With their breasts And lips The soft curve Right above their hips The depth of their eyes Their long Dark Hair Their scent Their skin And their absence
So he spent his days Sitting endlessly Surrounded by words Thinking of women With his pen And paper Watching time Trying to figure out Which direction It was going Pouring Black On white With red Trying to fill The void
The poet first appeared in real.m (Silenced Press 2007)
Alfaro lives in Columbus, Ohio
Visit his website HERE
Last update : 23-09-2007 14:39
|
|
|
Users' Comments  |
|
Average user rating
(0 vote)
|
|
Add your comment
|