Thursday, April 29, 2004

#29 The Giantess

(after Baudelaire)
In those times when
Nature couldn't
get enough of it,
spitting out
on a daily basis
children who were
literally monsters, I
would have loved
to have lived
near a young giantess
even if it meant
the only way to
dampen my desires
was to insinuate myself
around her ankles,
a frotting cat at the
feet of a queen. That way
I could take part in
whatever perverse games
she played, could see
her body & soul thrive
on the freedom she
found in them, tell
if her heart hid some
dark flame, if that mist
that swam across her eyes
was tears or the
humid warmth of
pleasure. & as a cat
I could be leisurely
in my exploration
of her body. It was
magnificent. I'd
gently climb the slope
of her knees, taste
her thighs, tangle my claws
in the thicket of her
pubic hair. & sometimes
in summer, drained
by the sun, she would
stretch herself out
across the countryside
& I would risk the
crossing of her belly
to sleep below her breasts,
in their shadow, a
peaceful village at
the foot of a mountain.

Monday, April 12, 2004

#28 The Empire of Lights (1967)

For the
nineteen years
between her husband's
& her own
death, Georgette Magritte
kept this painting
on an easel in
what had been
their shared house. How
hard it must have
been for her
knowing that after
their forty-five
years together
she could have
finished it off for him
with barely a break
in the brush strokes.

#27 The Secret Double

In Charleroi where
I grew up
the horses' halters
were hung
with round bells
like those that decorate
a jester's cap. When I
moved to Brussels
the same. A fortuitous
continuity. Later
in a Paris without the
presence of horses
I painted the bells
suspended above a
landscape that ran down
to the sea. I dreamt
of the afternoon windshifts
that would shake them
so I could see
their sound. Now
I have found you &
torn your face away
to show the bells embedded
in your memory. It is
a carillon we share.

Monday, April 05, 2004

#26 The Lost Jockey

The photosynthesis machines
are down. Chlorophyll
is in short supply. Each tree
left only with the exposed
neural pathways of a
single leaf; but cauterised
by cold these are excised
from all external stimuli. Un-
able to smell the snow
or touch each other or
taste the passage of
this horse & frantic rider. The
forest is full of trees who
cannot see they're there.