"En el Posblitz"

En el Posblitz el golpear de metal
sobre el empredrado parece mas claro, antes
del alba, tiempo antes de que tuercen
el paso, sin mirar, los jinetes.
Su mirada no va dirigida a nadie, ni a aquella
frente blitz vista en una estacion de metro,
la hendidura escasamente cubierta de hierba,
ni a este humo de una puerta cochera en
fina senal, ni a los escombros blitz,
a las grietas en los muros.
Y quieta (?sequiran esperando los
observadores, la mano en los focos calientes
de noche?) en la ventana, cuarta planta, tu
mirada a las fotos con flash, disparadas al torcer,
con el golpeteo sobre el empredrado.

(Comida Falsa, Marcel Beyer)
(and no, I don't understand it all, but I still like it)

*

"Some lines for MFA Writers Wherever They May Be"

All anguish is theoretical,
wild saliva.
Who spit blood in the Jujubes?

Brandy starts the new stance
below the addiction
threshold. We lay together

to break a moan.

This is about requited love &
the feasible orgasm
which happens

here.

Don't say this is
the beginning
of a writing career. Don't say
career. These lines
are not "another matter"

& we don't mean to rhyme.
So take your terror straight
& pick out the cotton
left by
the headphones.

Juice it.

It's the Muse staring through
like a laser sizzling a retina
brings us to an off-rhyme in home.
Bring us to drool
for crucifixion.

A sexual allusion to Krapp's last spool.
And erection of comfort.

The desire to end this
with something beautiful
is a kind of rape.

(Precinct Kali & the Gertrude Spicer Story, James Bertolino)

*

"Metaphysical Bum-Sonnet"

Don't balk at the red owl,
it eats mushrooms too.
Deep behind its face
the inscrutable swims
for its life. Because it is

it means. Because it is no longer
the opaque window sings.
Don't balk at change.

A sermon encased in glass
whirrs out of steam &
we gather to hum its praises.
Precious droplets of common moisture
form a liberating chain.

A feathered forehead, a damp cowl.

(ibid)