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My Blavatsky
The mysterious Maiden Blavatsky Beneath all language Floated into the room Like a corpse carried out. Hush. Murmur. Spinning eyes filling emptiness seen and unseen. She spoke. We trembled. What was written hiding in the cloven Air settled as dew On her lips. Her speech was vapor, her mind A cloud dense with thunder. Then Read more
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My Dearest Silesius
Got ist das armste Ding, er steht ganz bloss und frei: Drum sag ich recht und wohl, dass Armut göttlich sei. Silesius Alas, should I shed my robes? Replace my sandals with the dirt beneath my feet? Cast my last shekel before the town beggar? What about the poverty of love, of happiness? If these Read more
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Taking Tea with Hannah Arendt (2)
You once said to me As coyly as a school girl While stubbing out a cigarette In a lemon rind That all oblivion is redress. Yet I can’t help Seeing you in the end The dark angel of Dementia lurking behind The once brilliant onyx Of your eyes And think perhaps all Oblivion is not Read more
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Taking Tea with Hannah Arendt
I recall how she would hold a cigarette the same way she did her pen. It was as if she were inhaling life then exhaling meaning, both wrapped in the vapor of a clearly distilled but tortured mind. I loved when she would rub her thumb with her ring finger, cigarette or pen delicately balanced Read more
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Of a birth uneven
Of a birth uneven From a small village Calloused by calamity, I watch my fellow citizens Walk dogs more Handsome than their masters. I hear their wild calls Of Ni Dieu Ni Maître And smile to myself Under a thatched roof Inviting rain to enter Wherever it can. Often my friend Ling-hui Will stop by Read more
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And still…
My name died on the branch many years ago. Sunk rotted into the earth unforgiven. One day burst forth, bore fruit and thick-fleshed leaves. One day again died in the shade of a withering glance . This time rotted roots and all, and always, and all, and still… Read more
Umbriate Press Poetry 