about the dance
 
 
killing a virgin with a swan
sings withal, a spike in a lock
no key, to be carried away, with
nuances of revenge in just a song—
plain, ice-black on green
 
in a thrust of arrowed light, raw
she ran, disfigured brook by pant
and plume of white, fell by its hiss
 
— struck, by shadow, dark betrayal
it began, the fatal ballet God forgot
then, trapped upon a passing stage
made her world so small, to take a heart
so mighty, yet kiss this Devil's blade
with headless blood, she must, else be
— a crowd dying
 
 
DR
 

DR, this works like an epistle. Extraordinary imagery and cohesive. A pick for sure.

larry

Surely sings, Don Rodrigo, I'll second that pick.

milner

Bien, Larry, Guillermo,


Write of gadji today and let others follow — for this, muchas gracias.

DR

¿Qué hiciste después?


for every five
there maybe one
born with the howl

— the witches' song

for every ten
maybe, a girl
will pass, in black

— never look back


DR


(Title: What did you do then?)

exquisite

New Mexico Pueblo



in a church made from string

put straight by the hillside

horses kick their nails—

hark that savage wind

as mounts lay dying

on the ground weeps a lonely son



DR

Canciones de un mundo azul. Magnifico.

Guillermo

Oh dear, a poet.

Hi Desiree

whatever blows your skirt up, I guess
I regret certain words to get passé
unfortunately, they fit in the mouth
of all kinds of folk, to swallow— or spit
as a symbolic battle siren, maybe   


DR

                          grino
                             skin


                                                                to day, or not to day
                                                       I find, a broken space
                                               between breaks, to speak
                                             with irony — a little, lot less

                                         lost, amid mud and rubbish
                                             frayed shacks and shabby furniture
                                                    lame rikono and rabit cats, finding
                                                               time is meaningless, till all there is
                                                    to see are shortcomings, for a long
                                                                       way-off, round here— miss you mister 







DR

Lovely.

Hi Rick


bello, bello, bueno

whatsoever things are blue
whatsoever things are heavy
whatsoever things are simple
whatsoever things are beautiful
whatsoever things are lovely
whatsoever things are worthy
if there be any wealth and if
there be any one thing good —
it is the praise of a fellow
who thought well on these things

— for you, my friend


DR

my mint meant as compliment but i'm
not sure it was unwrapped, someone
thought it was one of those cinnamon
kind that burn your tongue and leave
your mouth red. as far as hip flankers
go, i wear mine long, but my stride is
spread enough to let some words up.

        Desiree


walkin' for a short time
searchin' for a long time

what a beautiful lady
— accord, accord
and not lost a friend

      (I'm glad)


          Dax