The Fractured Egg #3

the perpetual lovers (gustave moreau & his model/lover)

– for ghibellino

the moss-covered cross
a remnant of you / a now unknown grave
risen & gone never to return again
no matter how hard some believe
& i, enraptured by your arrival
seeing this tomb / the tome / this town
in your hands – making the search

he was buried in the same grave twice
rather 2 different graves
his lover rather – a stolen vault – now identical initials
another secret alphabet kidnapped
another name
yet the same illegitimacy / the pre-nom
his only lover – eternal love – the same principal
the same calligraphy – an opinion – not a fact
no real proof – an earlier death
the scent of body odor – interned like jesus
his body stolen – removed – resurrected
reunited with his lover – her name his crest
his design tattooed in mist on her flesh
her bones – her soul

the storyteller reminds us that this is only a story
[[[[[[[[[[like his own name ]]]]]]]]]]
but that’s another story to cross
another urn to be filled
pilfered – stolen – overturned

our ghosts reside in the hotel of noble existence
& the lovers exist in a painting long disappeared
odd to speculate
normal to imagine or believe
the flame now black – but still decidedly burning.

-Montmartre cemetery paris September 2014

the photos of Roy De Carava @ MoMA – Jam Session


2 boys          talking
2 shadow lights
we dark hats             hanging from the sky
speaking street
sitting on corner bench
a couple talking
a subway window
hung with shovels
& moist with hallways
of ketchup
my self-portrait a gaping hole
my graduation from this

from my adolescence then to my adolescence now

woman – you are my kitchen
i am man baby
stove there in
sewing   stairwells

i cook lightshadows

2 talking us smiling not smiling at tables
you are my pot
i am the stew there in
dancing wet branches

are shoulders laughing

embrace shadowlight

without convention

remaining nameless

i sell you me half/man


½ mannequin

scarf half-wrapped
such eggs
eyebrows fruit sack
such hands

you leave again & again I wish that you would never return

such returns
such hands

a couple of shadow & light




counting stripes

wearing gloves
removing gloves
putting hands in pockets
white shadows
counting stripes
lying down
counting steps
you & i

out of order




why do you

did you

(why did she leave her baby in a tree) ?

mirror split




why did you call?

why did you lock me in the phone booth?

atoms of energy
we talk

the action of words

the strong session of jamming into us.

dancing dark cardboard.

garments between friends.

out of fashion


forced shouting freedom
across the

sun & shade

way up on the silver
fence / we are the tool of color & light
we are the memories that we contain




One response to “The Fractured Egg #3”

  1. I love these poems. Both of them. Each one is very invocative of resonating moments in my life. The cemetary in Montmartre is in the vicinity of a neighborhood in Paris where I felt I must have been born for a second time. The entire rest of my life was originated there. Roy DeCarava is one of my favorite photographers. For awhile, I was friends with his wife, Terry, who worked with me as a typesetter. I found out a lot about Roy’s life and how he worked, also his values, both social and artistic. One of the rarest ones.