Cuisine and Sex

Auguste Toulmouche, le baiser

You risk your life to feed desires,
yet you give your soul only short grazing spans,
and those grudgingly.

You borrow ten and repay fourteen.
Most of your decisions can be traced back
to cuisine and sex.

The fuel basket goes from one stokehole
to the next. Six friends hoist
your handsomeness and carry it
to the cemetery.

Food changes going from table to latrine.
You live between deaths,
thinking this is right enough.

Close these eyes to open the other.
Let the center brighten your sight.

The Wide Plain of Death

I placed one foot on the wide plain

of death, and some grand immensity

sounded on the emptiness.

I have felt nothing ever

like the wild wonder of that moment.

Beyond Love Stories (2)

Love flows down. The ground

submits to the sky and suffers what comes.

Is the ground worse for giving in like that?

Do not put blankets over the drum.

Open completely.

Let your spirit ear listen

to the green dome's passionate murmur.

Let the cords of your robe be untied.

Shiver in this new love

beyond all above and below.

The sun rises,

but which way does the night go?

I have no more words.

Let the soul speak

with the silent articulation of a face.

Beyond Love Stories I

Love comes with a knife,

not some shy question,

and not with fears for its reputation.

I say these things disinterestedly.

Accept them in kind.

Love is a madman,

working his wild schemes,

tearing off his clothes,

drinking poison, and now quietly

choosing annihilation.

A tiny spider tries to wrap

an enormous wasp. Think of the spiderweb

woven across the cave where Muhammed slept.

There are love stories,

and there is obliteration into love.

You have been walking the ocean's edge,

holding up your robes to keep them dry.

You must dive deeper under,

a thousand times deeper.

Lamp after Lamp

You that prefer, as crows do,

winter's chill and the empty limbs,

notice now this that fills

with new leaves and roses opening

and the nightbird's song,

Let your love dissolve also

into this season's moment,

or when it's over you will buy

lamp after lamp to find it.

Painting "Succulent Eggplants" by Beatriz Milhazez here

Morning Wind

The morning wind spreads its fresh smell.

We must get up to take that in,

that wind that lets us live.

Breathe, before it's gone.

Stranded Somewhere

If you are the body, that one is the soul

of the universe. If you are the soul,

that one is the soul within all souls.

Wherever you go, whatever you are, listen for the voice

that asks. Who will be sacrificed tonight?

Jump up then and volunteer. Accept

the cup that is offered every second.

If you are bored and contemptuous,

love is a walk in a meadow.

If you are stranded somewhere,

love is an Arabian horse.

The ocean feeds itself to its fish.

If you are an ocean fish, why bother

with bread the ground grows?

These jars of grief and trouble

that we call bodies, throw stones and break them.

My cage is this longing for Shams.

Be my worst enemy. Shatter it.