Mariposa Mentirosa

               as the meat

               within the shell

as the shell before the caw 

a bleached weed

               a fig 

dusted to sweet the skin

egg albumen of peacock 

               butterfly

held to the ivory of oxen hoof

               pulling

               the space

between sins               I am 

               as I am so

the host               on the tongue

               God of Bread

complexion of conquest

               the salt of Lot

as God is 

               a crown of thorn

               diadem of wheat 

so am I the echo

calling fossil back to name

amaranth ash               spread across the light

 - J. Michael Martinez - White

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn’t he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same

sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain

 - E. E. Cummings - Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town

And death shall have no dominion.

Dead man naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon; 

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot; 

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; 

Though lovers be lost love shall not; 

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

Under the windings of the sea

They lying long shall not die windily; 

Twisting on racks when sinews give way,

Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; 

Faith in their hands shall snap in two,

And the unicorn evils run them through; 

Split all ends up they shan’t crack; 

And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.

No more may gulls cry at their ears

Or waves break loud on the seashores; 

Where blew a flower may a flower no more

Lift its head to the blows of the rain; 

Though they be mad and dead as nails,

Heads of the characters hammer through daisies; 

Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,

And death shall have no dominion. 

 - Dylan Thomas - And Death Shall Have No Dominion

i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite a new thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which I will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh…And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new 

 - E.E. Cummings - i like my body

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say, stay in there, I’m not going

to let anybody see

you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I pour whiskey on him and inhale

cigarette smoke

and the whores and the bartenders

and the grocery clerks

never know that

he’s

in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too tough for him,

I say,

stay down, do you want to mess

me up? 

you want to screw up the

works? 

you want to blow my book sales in

Europe? 

there’s a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I’m too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody’s asleep.

I say, I know that you’re there,

so don’t be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he’s singing a little

in there, I haven’t quite let him

die

and we sleep together like

that

with our

secret pact

and it’s nice enough to

make a man

weep, but I don’t

weep, do

you? 

 - Charles Bukowski - Bluebird