Kouros

I took an aimless walk down here, here in a
Green World, wandering pointless as
this day, suspended between May
and June. I can see, under your shirt,
your angular shoulders, about to bloom wide,
and I want so much to
lay my hands on them-- your manhood.
A year or two.
I know I should be looking for
sun-hardened fruit, so I smile
and see you wonder just before
I turn away

The Transfiguration-- attempt #2

[I CAN'T GET IT RIGHT!!!]

I don't know you, but I saw heavenly beauty in your face.
Your gentle smile at me was lit from within, and
All others, who I always understood as traps,
Infinite sources of fascination,
Have very simply
dimmed.
Let them come and let them go.
Their pretty flesh is now like dirt to me.
You'll be the consummation of my dreams.

Metaphysics-- attempt #1

[My first attempt to describe a particular event. I'm not overly happy with it. I have the feeling that no matter how long I try, I'll only end up producing more attempts... "He was more beautiful than words can express, and Aschenbach felt, as so often already, the painful awareness that language can only praise sensuous beauty, but not reproduce it." It's also really hard not to go off into a cliche-fest. I stole the 9th line from a medieval Chinese story.]

I have seen divine beauty:
A gentle smile on your good face.
Your face, lit from within.
In this white light, all others,
Who I always took as sources of infinite fascination,
have very simply
dimmed.
Let them come and let them go--
Their pretty flesh will be like dirt to me.
I know that you will drive me on, forever,
Sweeten my dreams, and be their consummation.
I have been transfigured.

2 AM-- version 5,831,382.4... beta

[I can't get it right!]

Night hangs black above
the city and below
the sky the side-
walk stretches on

and on and
at its end and
haloed in
orange lamp-
light he stands silent,
smoking

2 AM

[A poor imitation of William Carlos Williams-- for class]

Night hangs silent over
the city and below
the sky the sidewalk
stretches on

and on and
at its end and
in orange lamplight
he stands silent,
smoking

Friday

If there’s a god in heaven

or anywhere else

please bring me my poet

please send him to me

Miracle

I wonder if I'm sick, or seeing things.
They chatter loudly, all of them unaware
Of the quiet miracle unfolding here.
Wild-eyed, I watch this beaming apparition:

Your blond head bent over the desk
Your shoulders tensed in concentration,
And your beautiful hands,
writing.

Fantasy on a music lesson

I just signed up for a class,
but of course there’s always more in my head.
As he sounds the purest notes,
I can’t help but let my eyes drift to his face
and muse about private lessons.