6

Of Unreflected Vertical Nick

Now I climb another slope, this not so raw.

I make it harder to better unconceal

Some possible beauty beyond utter flaw –

My way of kneeling, your powers to reveal.

No doubt, curses I will shout to stay the road.

Such aren't my signatures. I'm only not God.

What perfection do I chase via this mode,

Invisible to me, ever far abroad?

I wish that 'fore its start writing had perished.

Even did this bloom, what's to be cherished?

But it was all there was, there no other point.

I attempt to not presume or mistranslate

As I fight to give this chance to more than guilt.

That I fight to eat, too, how does that relate?

Cancel either, there's more peace to not much built?

But for you no one would read this waste at  all.

Poetry's a load of trash. Shit more inspires.

Angels swing low, indeed, answering such scrawl.

That whippings come to the child who so aspires

Does not surprise me, for its nonsense appalls,

Base love more useful – but even that it stalls.

One might as well stay drunk, smoke a lazy joint.

So, tell me, what's the Essence of this cuisine?

I'll say you, your magical delicacies.

Mine's a lone heart, but with you I try what mean.

So this I wrote, though I know it can't much please.

I wear no veil: you know my soul's a shanty.

If it's been misplaced it's not much of a loss.

So once more, with a poem, I lift the ante,

This page have become so difficult to cross,

I must leave to you of these lines to make sense.

What's nothing before me have become so dense,

This poem, this strife, to that fate I now appoint.

7

Correspondent Nonswearing

I think you'll not mind if I call you Psyche,

Nor if I compare you to a fine bouquet.

Though you respond to my own vulgar psyche

I'm writing to you as oft, with dismay.

You give yourself to my examination,

Before and in my own mind wholly shameless,

Yet seem care not your own humiliation

By who, to be pure, view little as blameless –

Including myself, midst the least of the wise,

Knowing you little, nor my other allies,

As try to not squander the light of the sun.

Why the hell, then, am I playing here the poet,

A sacrifice to the Word, a lamb only?

And what good, Psyche, that even you know it?

For you and you alone have I been lonely,

Because abundance, to me, is your least word.

I'm subject to your skies east, west, south and north.

A starving wolf you can direct to a herd.

You have the whammy to blind or let light forth.

You can open paths you deem should not be shut,

Or make vanish some painful stress in one's gut.

Why, then, must I slave? Am I not built for fun?

These words the scene between acting and thinking,

It is you who commands; I can only wish.

If ours be a union, why such the linking?

And why the candies, yet so little a dish?

Your brain you share, but not your sovereign court.

Even so, your greater talents you conceal.

If so much that I am you so much support,

Why have I not wealth to do more as we feel?

If we both enjoy bliss then why do I wait

While doing else which to such does not relate?

Well, I'm the servant, not you. I'm just stating.

Meanwhile, this poverty I'll not pose as light.

I've some my own answers to this mystic tea.

But they are yours I like this way to invite.

Could to your mind a faulty poem be a key,

I'd be a genius mankind sought for answers.

But poems aren't worth the prices publishers charge,

Most written by “intellectual” prancers.

That's OK – all, in some way, need to feel large.

As for this, needing a strong scope for reading,

It's but to Psyche I write this faint beating,

Her eyes in the least (p)arts of mine, relating.

8

Arch

“I’m so ugly I needn’t be visible,”

Thought she, her heart like a ghost’s through days slipping.

“Could I have beauty that was less risible,

Could I alter this ill-orchestrated face,

Could I be such as inspired the itch of love

That youth less knows yet more goes interdipping!

I’d give up my soul to below and above

Could I this mask and shape uncomely replace!”

As like to vase-rubbed wish there one day arrived

The means to purchase every cosmetic trick,

All the arts of beauty that might be contrived

To illumine revelations like a sun.

Not but that: he loved her, too, as were she God,

And his genius speared her through, reaching her quick.

As if this weren’t enough for Ugly to laud,

His was wealth that not a want couldn’t be won.

These alone rare enough for a girl to meet,

He was so like herself this made him a gem.

One would think destiny’d resolved to be sweet,

Of all the blessed milk, la crème de la crème.

Such once to fancy, then come true so complete

Wrought Ugly , when he proposed, all adither.

Yet occurred a situation of sorrow,

One causing Ugly all one moment to grieve.

She saw one who had not many a morrow,

Troubles such that Ugly with tears regretted.

But one of these woes was an absence of legs,

That wrought Ugly the following to perceive:

“If only with limbs could she be resetted –

For science is able now this to achieve –

Might she in other ways be less neglected?

I’m so unlovely mine are small use to me.

Did I give them the world’d not be much sadder.”

Thus slept Footless one night, dream gave up, to see

Just its magic, the next morning detected.

Such the marvel to believe wasn’t easy.

Yet when she did Ugly’s touch made her gladder,

Now her poverty less daunting and queasy.

Ugly, believing love and beauty gave up,

Now hid. For brutes, when saw her, tauntingly whipped,

Mocking: “Oh, Make-up, please, paint me less hard-up!

For none regard this maggot straight from the crypt!”

Yet one – felt he’d not like a wife without feet,

So left – was in Spirit even more with her.

Searching, he found her, though a distance he kept,

As listened from the street to notes she played.

When first met her of her piano he’d wept –

And knew, now, for him were her melodies made.

“Would the world could hear such,” he began to think:

“Could it know such beauty so deep and high weighed,

Thought lost – for vaster good brief life seems to shrink –

Yet not, but increased of so great a cost paid.”

Thus secretly began he to spread to fame

A music to plaudit for its maimed wealth.

Her first public concert brought Ugly acclaim,

And she prospered, yet lone and limbless remained.

Though joys came not all at once, often in stealth;

Though yet to ridicule and homeliness chained,

She many years shared a genius unbounded.

Then one day arrived who’d once been diminished.

They spoke about a gift brought, then she sounded:

“Close your eyes now, sleep sweetly, it is finished.”

“Yes –“ replied Ugly: “I must rest now – it’s through.

I’ve felt for some time life gave up to wither.”

Yet not Ugly’s crossing to not wake anew –

Nor can we dream the beauty she brings with her.

9

Vacuum

“Deep and high weighed” it seems wears bathos’ clothing,

Calling for a powwow, this verse its sedan.

That justice is lacking I’m ever oathing –

And its need is now, not beyond this life’s span.

Are missing limbs grievous? Then be it perceived

That it’s much less defective other limbs bought

Than other limbs given up, the same achieved.

Would you clothe the bare by giving up all you’ve got?

Well fine – now for neither is there any feast.

Would you feed the poor? What good do beyond least

If fill them till you yourself hardly do live?

Better your welfare to build and not slice it.

For what waters to share if you have no well?

Would you shelter the homeless who nowhere fit?

Shall many you lift, you yourself in dearth’s hell?

And what of these poems that I write for no fee?

What is the profit but a challenge to pass?

Shall this care for the ill charitably?

Does it treat the sick passing so much gas?

What does this forced labor gain profitably?

Of this sacrifice it's a void that I see,

Beyond the stars not but innocence to give.

10

Orbital

This page is dry but needs no lubrications.

Just so, if not yours what words have I to say?

You know better than I, why these rotations,

So much entertainment, for me, 'long the way.

You could not, as one's partner, be more ideal.

Though in evils you've had some complicity,

They've stacked more fav'rable cards for life to deal.

You've shown your command of electricity.

You've been my companion throughout the nation.

All such as this – another vain creation,

Knowing not what it is I'm trying to catch –

You've read, responding in ways not all subtle.

Such as today's meeting with a Christian man.

No doubt, all my life such things I will muddle,

Though each day you add something odd to my plan.

Not much that I know, I ask you, the genie.

Though not a lot more understanding I seize

(I but muse, fuzz adrift from Hippocrene),

Thank you for the Kleenex should Something Strange sneeze.

I don't much shine, see no need to invent such.

Did death visit now it wouldn't prevent much.

Why do you my words, then, with miracles match?

Knowing not what to hide, nor what to attest,

I'd as soon leave poetry to a writer.

But, s'long as we're here, what would you have expressed?

If you will tell it this task will be lighter.

You know mine's not the best quality of heart.

Not that it's weak, but how I dress it can be.

I've said touching, just right, is your finest art,

Yet all happening this day is contrary.

Have you more crap so that my cursing ring true?

Is there some blame that's mine but isn't of you?

I'd like to rise, but since we're One that takes two.

You know on this earth there's not much one can trust.

But I must trust you, both my guest and host,

Lest I dread the wind, malicious every gust.

Debating with you daily, I've not to boast,

Nor can claim special knowledge of what's yonder –

One can't but gasp with awe midst known Creation.

But, now back to humans, of which you're fonder.

'Tween them and me there's not much a relation.

Thus now I'm dressed in this sheet. What more ideal

To “manifest” a host who's opened your seal

And thanks you for filling my eyes with a clue?

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