Monday, June 23, 2008
are not dumb; they are football fans.
Not that I do not understand why they
jump and clap madly at a good pass
or reach immortality at a goal;
only, I would rather give the game
to the team more beautiful, or to those
who forget sometimes, just as they veer
the ball, what it’s all about, these lights,
these crowds, the men they fight; to those
who sweat and look for rain, to those who
win or lose, knowing they win or lose in vain.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Do you know the meaning of tinsel, K?
Tinsel; the sound of it like a little bell
and that which weighs nothing.
You can sometimes see through it and
discover the half image of what's behind;
only now it looks as if it's shaped anew
to meet your eye. Tinsel's like chinks of light;
like cracks letting the sun slip through.
K, do you think like this of what we do?
Whenever you tell me things, I turn them,
I shine them till they reflect you like that. Till
they become the very charge that made you say
things you told me in the dead of the night;
over birds' phone-calls and playwrights' chats.
I found out that only you could say them when
I took your words and loved them till dawn;
my tinsel waylays them but fails to amaze them.
Your words, say them again, K, again, again say
till I fall hush and interrupt you only when I may.