Three Poems

by George Zamalea

 

 

A DOG NAMED 'EVER-AGAIN' RUNS AWAY

 

I saw the eyes of 'Ever-Again' as I was

          Passing in front of C.'s house,

Colorless and deep, against the morning of May

          Looking left and right, with unwished waves,

A dog named 'Ever-Again', his woeful

          Task remains, who runs away.

 

Arousing at length my curiosities, innocently

          Of course, while at the same time,

My heart designed to live, learning

          He was dying, and 'Ever-Again', who went

To C.'s house, and who starts dying there,

          And the people from C.'s house have known him

As 'Ever-Again'.

 

For none of these gentlemen dared,

          Or, busy as they were, took time to think

For a moment about 'Ever-Again', who went back and forth

          To C.'s house, and who was already

Dead; everybody was astonished at

          How this happened to ‘Ever-Again'.

 

 

THE RAT AND THE MONKEY

 

I did what the regular

          Jupiter has done with the rat

And the monkey, said the useless

          Brawnier under the stigmatic era, eaten them by tail,

Where the men and women are just unbreastless

          In the growing whirl of useless love.

 

He brings the rat to the lab

          And the monkey to the cage.

Rat looks at him: "Miserable! Bizarre sin!

          I'm the monkey when beauty's genius

And the carnality of the franks does not have

          The vigor of fire and of the night caravan.

I'm supposed to be there, where the fragrance

          Of the lustful hole whose darkness

Has no respect for living, the shape

          Of the moon with windowless witches!"

 

"You are, beast! You must be there.

          And you will find it easier

Between anxious coition and the odorous

          Crepitation of such wedding sense

Of being smart with lovely thing, that each

          Coffin will send the same belly of such answer."

 

Monkey, jumping over stove and stove,

          Then with the high gas behind him and passion

Written against the wall, finds his words

          At last, “I’m the rat! The oozing blaze

Where the public decomposition beats down

          My grass that voluptuous lips kiss

Whose freak sounds grimace along their pleasure.

          I’m the rat, tomorrow or ever, and I’m supposed

To be here.”

 

          “You are not! You must be there.”

And between the liquid of living and thirsty love,

          The honey-bee sweeps over and the quaver

Madness dredged from his eyes strangely. “If you

          Ought to be there, then beat it! Bring me

The reason sculpted by rapturous heart

          And push then the peaceful misgiving of this last call

Made from hell!”

 

 

THEY KILLED HIM RUNNING

 

They killed him running

          Naked down the street

When a man next to me asked what

          Happened.

 

I thought to answer until

          The sun obscured me without slashing

The last words, and I thought

          I was still sleeping

With joined hands and muscles

          In front of a leading mass.

 

I am still thinking. Can I answer

          Him as a teacher to a student

In a restless room with the dreamy dreams

          That were once a part

Of the hunting? Of course I should.

 

          I closed my broken mouth

And put a hand on his shoulder:

          Can you feel me? The whole body

Shaken and I know he got the message.

Share this post
FaceBook  Twitter