Sunday, December 27, 2009

Dragon


Dragon


I thought I will awaken.
And when I do, the rooftops
will be above me.
Those we swooped over.

Rolling, hugging my pillow
everything would make sense.
Fall into another adventure
perhaps -- But.

Why is this blood
The credits would roll now.
dripping from where I pinched
my arm?

Upon these green scales.
And the houses. The village.
We are so above everything
as lightning flashes.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Poof


Poof


"The gist" is an interesting phrase.
Gist. What people mean is, Hey! The
crux of the matter, or The point is,
etc. Within the superfluity, lies this.
Or, What granny's really sayin' is...

So, forgive my confusion. Surely tonight
when Cherise brought that third Collins
and you said I am done painting you
Austin, you didn't mean, you didn't mean,
what I mean is, you were not saying --

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Ten and Shorter








Ten and Shorter


Is it wrong for us to be in love?
I mean, you're taller and eleven.
I'm ten and shorter.

That first dinner I guessed it.
Your mother had to bring you.
My father, me.

Day after day we're on our own.
Well, when school's out
and they work.

I have never been happier.
One day I will tell you.
But -- not today.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Necessary


Necessary


You want to know the very thing
I don't. And so, when I back away
don't get closer. Have you never
read a single psychology book
or article? Something advising
that the defensive devices of the
average human evolved because
they were necessary?

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Sunday, December 13, 2009

The Gentle Hug


The Gentle Hug


Ten years on Dad, I feel again the strength.
The weakness around my neck. Power of
the gentle hug. The water in the corner of
your eye. What I would give now to see it
reflect
the bales of hay, or the perch caught.
The spoon in the tea, the oil changed,
the ghost seen, the garden gardened,
or Helen discovered.

The phone answered. The clink of you
dropping screws into a jar labelled "screws".
Re-aligning that pendulum. Once I awoke
in the night. At the end of the hallway
I saw you cracking hazelnuts as though
only the snow falling outside knew
neither of us were sleeping.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Sunday, December 06, 2009

He or I


He or I


The world, life, affords us a few.
But more likely, less. One.
One that becomes half a poem's
title. That person you hope dies
after you do.

You could not bear it, the loss.
In utter selfishness, you wish grief
upon him. May the burden of
eulogy, be his. Even then,
make it quick.

We dragged nothing in life further
than it could go. Don't change that.
Please? No hearing ear would discern
the subtleties. When only what was,
is.

c. Ciprianoword, Inc. 2009

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Directions


Directions


I like the way there was that void under the floor mat
for empty beer bottle placement, and the launching
of other detritus. Your Valiant was a sturdy vehicle.
Built for adventure. Hell, it was true to its name.

Brian, do you remember the McDonald's Drive-Thru
on a wintry south Albert night? You recited an army
sized order as I folded the back license plate in half.
Handing me the bag of burgers, you floored it.

But we floundered on a patch of ice -- the car slapping
the wall as I yelled at Jesus. Then [miracle] we were off.
North as Alaska. And I laughed so hard the floor mat
was gone. White dotted lines, zipping past that hole.

More to the right! More to the right!

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Monday, November 30, 2009

Parry's Paragraph


Parry's Paragraph


Two doctors with clipboards clippety cloppity.
Hearing, the last sense to leave, hears them
ask something in that unlit tunnel. Mr Parry,
we were notified. You have some words that

I will be cutting through to. You. I will be cut.
I will be cutting. -- Through. Through. I will
be. I, Will, will be cutting through to you. I will
be using my fingers to --

you mentioned to Nurse Millicent. You wanted
these sent to an L.B. Is that correct? Address
is recorded? I think he's gone. He is. Lips were
moving but I got none of that, did you? No. No.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Friday, November 27, 2009

Bounced (At Chesil Beach)


Bounced (At Chesil Beach)


The sun. The eyelid of it, was shutting.
And we, nowhere near done discussing
Hardy's relentless pessimism, were waxing
inarticulate, when you kicked that thing.

It floundered and flounced, somersaulted,
bounced. And landed on another rock,
as we very nearly stopped, and did not.
It was the walking on I shall not forget.

As though you had not defied gravity, nor
thrust one being upon another, neither
concave. Rounded, these met, shivering,
at their polar regions, and stayed.

What I love is that you said nothing. Nor
did I. Our held hands blessed your cairn,
as fireflies heard of Tess, Angel, and
Stonehenge, for [perhaps] the first time.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Mom's Rhubarb Pie


Mom’s Rhubarb Pie


Who would think that green dragon wings
in the garden corner, clustered in a coven
could be attached to something so tasty?
Purple stalks hidden by this unruly canopy.
Bite one and consider the artistry needed.
Slicing, sugaring, syrupping, spicing –
A flaky crust must then be conjured, and all
baked into existence.

Tonight, at a whim, I walked into Memories.
Known for their desserts.
At a window seat I sipped a Monte Cristo coffee.
The glimpsed mile-high imposter on display
danced in my head, but I did not take her hand.
Did not order a slice. It would not be as good.
Could not be, as good.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Like A Runway


Like A Runway


Does heavy cloud cover mean the game is off?
They have instruments, even instinct, been-here-before
to guide them. Flying blind, there are few unknowns
really. Barring divine intervention, this hotel will go
where they put it. Delta-192 clear on Apron 11-B, Over.

The only way these 2,400 miles have been predictable
is repetition. The walkway is slowly extended toward
the door. Soon, someone who failed high school will
usher us onward, and we'll go. Honey, nothing is perfect.
But, as I lick your knees, your inner thigh, and upward,

everything that is happening, eyes closed, is --

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Monday, November 16, 2009

Worsted










Worsted

Yes. Nice try. And I was born last night in a barn!
He lifts the two end tiles -- The word means yarn,
she pleads, slapping them back. Having none of it,
he grabs her wrists, saying, Where is the fun of it
if you keep inventing stuff like this? She pouts,
reaching for the dictionary. Listen, he shouts,
If you think I'm conceding six points for your 'd'
landing on the triple letter score, you're crazy!

He turns away as she holds the page up to his eyes.
Be happy with your five letters. Do you realize
you've won the last two games? Leaving the book
open on the table, she allows him this second look.
But he folds the board. And as the tiles clatter
so does her heart, in as many pieces, shatter.
She runs away, and the bedroom door is slammed,
as worsted stares back at him. Well, I'll be damned.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Friday, November 13, 2009

A Piece of Sunset


A Piece of Sunset


There you are, washing the egg-flipper.
No. Not somewhere else, but right here,
same world I inhabit. Same walls.
Same bills. Same toilets. Same children.

A few strands of your hair fall forward.
Others remain tied. Rinsed forks clatter
like castanets, defying anything domestic.
Strutting a fandango -- you aren't here.

I lean in closer to hear you humming,
nearly falling in the sand at your feet. I know
that song goddammit -- a piece of sunset
made you squint. And I remembered.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Thursday, November 12, 2009

First Friday


First Friday


Breakfast on the same side of the table.
Had you not insisted on this, we'd never have known.

I love when you first suggested such a thing. Other
meals matter not. In the morning, our shoulders will touch.

So there we were, with our cereal, that first Friday.
After a swallow, I turned my spoon toward you.

Curved side out, all's well. Flipping it round, concave,
well, everything between us is awry.

There was nothing for me to do but excuse myself
and stand behind your chair as you leaned back.

I cupped your breasts, and we kissed, topsy turvy.
All the while, how glad I was, you chose this configuration.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Aunt Elsie


Aunt Elsie


Not just the clanging of the dinner bell.
Difficult as this is to forget. Or her shrill call.
The walk-in-and-wander food pantry.
None of this brings her back as clearly to me as that
squint she had, sun or no. Nothing to do with light.

That narrowing of the eyes meant laughter, sadness,
punishment, linoleum repairs, change the channel,
chicken heads to be cut off, storm tomorrow, I had too
many children, or most of all, most of all -- open
yours as much as you can, while you can.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Billboard


Billboard


Being from a small town, I know that the first time I saw one I marveled.
Gasped and marveled. Perhaps not in that order.
May have marveled first.

I had not seen advertisement in such a large scale. I was overwhelmed.
Sincerely. As a child, profoundly enamored. Nothing held precedence.
There was one -- it said something about Percival Mercury, the best cars
were here -- Jesus, why would you go somewhere else? I could not breathe.
Can we move to this city, Father?

We are working on it, Son.
I would have endured any trial to get to the land of Billboard.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Saturday, October 31, 2009

The Sieve


The Sieve


Here's what I am saying.
When sent, message trumps messenger.
Receiver reads sent, not intended to convey.
All thoughts come in at the top of the head.
They filter down. God help you if there is no
sieve.

My mother had several. None of them were
installed in her head, but she made terrific rolls.
I've excelled in different areas. No baking.
But I try to ensure that what I say
has fallen through what would have left flour
trapped.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

A Puff of Steam


A Puff of Steam


I've never eaten one of these, until tonight.
If it were only that walk through Lannis Park
where we heaped leaves in a pile, and fell,
kicking like kids. If it were only that look.
The bug-eyed one when your steak arrived.
I told you, at The Mill, rare means raw!

If it were only the way you let me lick the salt
from your fingers at the movie. How you cried.
And then, remember that nametag? When I
touched it and said, "Isaac, she said Tic-Tacs!"
You spit several, later, in perfect trajectory,
to my mouth. If it were only this. Only this.

We had walked until the Earth threatened to
return us to our origins. All the while laughing.
Loving. I removed my right glove, you, your left.
You exhaled the moon. I sucked every molecule
into my lungs, and I would have willingly fallen
backwards, nothing but air to not catch me.

-- c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009 --

Friday, October 30, 2009

Crumpling


Crumpling


You and I have never gone for forgiveness purely
for the sake of morality. And I am thankful. It's less
confusing this way. But God, we like writing, huh?

How many have I received from you? Hundreds?
Notes threatening everything -- murder to suicide.
Historically, you have had better subject matter.

So, of course, your stuff will be getting good reviews.
Now, I've just fashioned a bestselling little diatribe.
But, planning to leave it here, the walls become thin.

Between this and the next room, I hear a weeping.
Crumpling what I've written, I quietly move myself,
and at that doorway, resolve -- to never write again.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Gold and White










Gold and White


Tell me two true things my dear, and we heard a flapping.

Well, the water is gold and those darlings are white.

Au contraire, said I. You speak of solar reflection.

And no bird was ever all white, it is but their feathers.


This is when you, pulling a clump of sod, fed me it.

And I rolled you off the blanket as those wings beat the air.


c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Monday, October 19, 2009

Flipping The Pages









Flipping The Pages

Concentration level. Lack of distraction.
Both of these factor into the final equation.
Mb + Hb = Siadf. And "b" is a constant.
We are reading the same book!

I lower my sunglasses and do that lateral
eyeball roll, trying to see her page number.
Good Lord! It's not possible. 135?
We've only been here on the beach an hour!

Let's see, that guy came around with drinks,
and then, oh yes, I snoozed a bit, but still!
How can I only be at 35? Without the 1 in front!
My book + Her book = She is always done first.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Outdoing The Moon


Outdoing The Moon


Walking from the theater, the wet asphalt glistening
under our shadows preceding and receding, streetlamps
outdoing the moon. You, waving that persistent cabbie
on – there are others, needier than us Ishmael. Find them,
and God be with you – spoken in faux bigotry only I heard.

You are someone always on stage, yet never. Being
more than a self, the star opts for understudy, or prompter.
The person that draws, closes the curtain. How lovely
to walk beside you and know who you really are, this night.
This damp, glorious encore. Not an opening scene, but a bow.

I refer to the light now falling from the hotel window, onto
your sleeping face. Earlier, when Gavroche was shot
you reached over, and catching my tears, ate them --
Never once taking your eyes from the stage, nor caring
that I saw it all -- How then, am I now supposed to sleep?

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Friday, October 16, 2009

Plus Sign


Plus Sign


In a minute, I will tell you why I smiled.
Suspicion aroused, you asked me
What are you laughing at?
Oh, there’s a great magnetic gulf between
hilarity and smiling, I replied,
[heavily committed to the latter thing].

Cells assigned to memory, recall.
Weeping inside, I conjured the image.
You, reaching up to write our names
on the wood. I focused then on one thing
joining us, as you fell dizzy, into my arms,
tossing your balance to the four corners.

Here we are again, decades later.
I smiled just now, knowing that nothing
would ever erase your graffiti.
Trust me, as I live. All our fridge magnets
will fall clattering to the linoleum, before
that one plus sign will ever erode.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Monday, October 12, 2009

Clink


Clink


-- our glasses met with that noise, following.
Two glaciers colliding would sound the same
if they weren't made of millennia-old ice and
six miles fucking wide full of frozen tons of
scraped tundra, rocks and -- fossil-garbage

-- mastodon scrotums, and half-digested shit
of things that died while eating whatever it was
they caught that flew too slowly and low, before
we filmed a single beast catching things.
All of this raced through my synapses --

-- as our glasses met with that distinct and final
sound. And raised to the level of yours, through
the cubes, I saw your eyebrows. All distorted.
As wonderful as anything I have ever seen or
imagined to have existed on this orbiting ball.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, October 04, 2009

Click


Click


It's killing me slowly.
Affording an appreciation of now,
then. What was, is, makes sense
only through this lens of ending.
What had a beginning must have
closure -- Snapped open, shut.

Learn from photography.
Existing -- click -- preserved.
Nothing changes the mid-moment,
and nothing can. What we are
is no movie but a snapshot. And
movement? Repetition of a singularity.

If you are reading this, you are alive.
This is all we know. Not quite. A writer
wrote it. Beyond this, we guess.
[Who took this? Are you trying to drown that beach ball?]
What is it that's killing me slowly?
Oxygen. Living.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, September 28, 2009

Fall Leaf Falling


Fall Leaf Falling


There was a big fall maple leaf on your back.
Orange. You thought it was the last thing you said.
I was just a little bit behind you, and I still am.
Four seconds ago you turned with your cute What?
And I said Nothing, watching that thing crabwalk
down your black fleece vest -- down down.

And in that interim, between its life on a tree
and its journey on you, I saw everything. My
own fall for you, so similar -- Upside down.
Right side up -- upside down -- right side -- and my
little chuckle had nothing to do with your wit. Funny
as you are. I laughed because this is exactly --

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Hyperbole


Hyperbole


I think of you a million times a day.
Your eyes, how they dripped with the words.
I would swim the ocean for you, came later.
If my love were the sand of all shores
every grain -- it's too painful to recall this.
Kissing you means I shall never kiss another.

Ahhh. Have I interrupted your day, lately?
Turning around in the bathtub would be a chore,
and any hourglass fifty-nine minutes too full.
No, all that we shared together was interesting
even true, perhaps. But not possible.
And where, where are your lips, this night?

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, September 21, 2009

The Same


The Same


Didn’t believe it. Neither would I
have. But the question is why?
Why.
Why.
Why.
I feel this way and there is no
Why.
Why.
reason why I do, I just do. Now,
Why –
Why –
No, shhhh – quit shivering, tell me
Why –
Why –
do you feel the same about me?

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Saturday, September 19, 2009

After Dying Elsewhere


After Dying Elsewhere


Love gone,
and I the poorer
walk on. Slower now
through forest shadows
where crunching autumn
leaves a cricket song
undone.

Not long ago
this same pathway
upheld spirited lovers.
Careless, led along
by the murmuring
of a stream
and a dream
that loneliness would never
wound them.

I stop
as moonlight finds
the old tree stump -- a
cenotaph in honor
of all that I am -- the
living part missing
and all hope
of resurrection... gone.

The cricket resumes,
and I the poorer
walk on.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2209

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Different Shelves


Different Shelves

Brown cried out, Hey, I'm a movie all of a sudden,
did you hear? Heard, saw and slept it, said Rowling,
adding, Sorry Dan, but the popcorn was more exciting!
They never quite translate, I find, opined Patterson.
Bug-eyed and scary slick, King shouted from a stack,
I am still the king, you fuckers! Hah, sneered Clancy,
prove it, Bangor-boy! A grinning Grisham asked no
one in particular if they had ever seen a 1990's hit-list.
Meanwhile, filing her nails, Danielle Steele turned to
her right and quietly vomited something green onto the
left shoulder pad of an unsuspecting Anita Shreve.
Three aisles down, a peace was in progress.

How happy is the little stone that rambles in the road
alone, and doesn't care about careers, said Emily to
Edna, who agreed, adding, Life in itself is nothing,
an empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. Browning
looked to them both, nodding, That damnable racket
yonder causes me to rue my birthday, girls. Just then,
as Rupert Brooke was about to speak, a hush, allowing
only the hum of a ceiling fan, fell upon everyone --
listening. How can my Muse want subject to invent
while thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
thine own sweet argument, too excellent
for every paper to rehearse?

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Round


Round


I was thinking it could have easily been a cylinder.
Three of the hundred clouds parted and there it was.
Round as hell, bright as four ghosts, and sucking the
ocean like an Amsterdam whore would gobble a guy.

Or a square. Why not a fucking rectangle or something.
Orbiting like an old fridge box the derelict runs toward
in too much of a breeze, Holy shit, I could live in that!
But no, somehow this dusty beachball is opting for --

A triangle could have called the whole world to lunch.
A trapezoid remind us of acid trips in high school. But
this perfect circle? Every night screaming that I'm
standing, every day, on something even more perfect?

-- a message.

c.Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Monday, September 07, 2009

Her Floor


Her Floor


A less romantic word than olfactory does not exist.
But it was the way that the curtain moved after she passed.
[As though following her was the thing to do, and it was...]
A scent, and her simpering at a joke I never heard.
The combination of it all, and the clack of those shoes
against what I immediately knew was worthy of groveling
before. The floor -- her floor.

She made everything hers.
Including
me.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, August 24, 2009

Sand


Sand


No one ever sees one. You only see billions of it.
Trees, rocks, clouds, almost anything stands alone
allowing a naked judgment. That there is a tree.

You go into the forest and hack a Christmas one.
You load rocks into a wheelbarrow, and move them.
You spot an odd fishhook in some wandering cirrus.

But on the beach you lay on uncountable sands.
Not one. There is nothing to say about one sand.
And yet how important many of them can be.

It may be the most socially dependent object known.
And yet it seems insistent on covering what’s under it.
I saw an abandoned doorway, the threshold buried

in what sand does.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Friday, August 21, 2009

Our Daemons


Our Daemons

(dedicated to Philip Pullman)

When we fought, they cringed.
We didn’t always notice, we were busy,
otherwise engaged.
Caught in the jaws of our arguments.

But in the corners, and opposite, shivering,
quivering, pupils darting, our essences,
looking this way and that, the best
things about our Eachness, our Dust --

Oh, how I was adept at conjuring
greater sins than the current. And you.
How you glared, causing me to wonder
at the origin of the moisture in your eyes.

-- committed murder or love.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, August 17, 2009

My Spiral


My Spiral


Can I tell you the problem I have with concentricity?
No matter how far inward you go, it's still another circle.

When I think of what we are, and have been, and will be
I envision a terminus. A focus. A drain, even.

Where we stop spinning, being separate. Orbiting
endlessly, the other in sight, but no closer.

I guess I just believe in this other thing. My spiral.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Friday, August 14, 2009

Righteousness


Righteousness


Undoubtedly, by definition, if nothing else,
the most righteous are the most right.

If not the greatest problem the world's ever known,
this is arguably that second, and the first remains,

that there is no second,
if the first.

c. Ciprianowords, 2009

Sunday, August 09, 2009

Honesty


Honesty


It's one of life's conundrums, like standing outside Carlsbad,
watching the bats fly out.
A scientist, furiously tabulating. Wingbeats per second,
multiplied by
square footage of cavern-entrance-hole.
Jesus, no. There cannot possibly be that many in there --

And so you are telling me stuff, and to the very degree my
ears hear, my eyes shut, and I keep saying [to myself]
"It's not possible" and you're not at all finished, while I'm
thinking "You could sell tickets to such an event."

-- And one, honest to God, got tangled on my head.
While I flailed about and screamed, Professor Angstrom
assured me, "These are not rabid or poisonous at all."
But you know what?
I did not care. I just wanted the damn thing out of my hair.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Saturday, August 08, 2009

The Promised Land


The Promised Land


I did not ask for this. Nor did I question
my role as ladder-holder. But I now fear
my eternal destiny.
If Motive be judge, I am safe.
Innocent as yesterday's sparrow, hatched.
But let Desire hold the gavel.
This wizened vulture did not circle twice
before descending in his spiral,
toward that which was above.

For as you climbed the steps, so did I.
My wayward gaze fell upon that which
should
not be seen unless shown.
The land of milk, oh yes, and honey.
My trembling hands upon the rails shook.
And my eyes, longing to weep,
seemed [wickedly] unable to do so.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009

Not In Me


Not In Me


It's not in me to win a bout, my Love.
Your eyebrows, or how you say chocolat
as if you know other words in French.

The little chirping sounds when you're hurt.
Your unique al dente rules for spaghetti.
Your sock-folding ways and love of oral

hygiene. The way you floss, and toss.
The gloss on windows when you're done.
It's not even fair at all you should know

when it comes to anything knock down -
drag out, the referee will be slapping the
mat thrice, and holding your left arm high.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Due


Due


Wind blew in today, a bad one.

Some said twister.
I was playing snooker at Sing-Loo's.
He sells cigarettes to all ages, for 5 cents.
We heard nothing. No ripples in my draft.

Three blocks over, Mrs. Ludder's roof left town.
And the cross on St. Brigid's skewered
Jim Blidwort's Holstein.
Rack 'em up, Eddie.
That cow was due for the abattoir.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Proximity


Proximity


In the crotch nearest our head we rub a stick
hoping that later that day the nearest person
will not notice that unless they did the same
we will proportionately move away from them
at a rate consistent to that in which we now
experience them maintaining a safe distance.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Her Cottage


Her Cottage


She said that I had the key to her cottage.
So I checked my own array, no, all of these are mine.
Car. Apartment. Mailbox. Work door. Bike lock.
I’ve really only got a few.

But she’s the opposite of flippant.
As I am, also, so I knew that something else was said.
This is not about steel on a ring, or a wooden door.
It’s something pumping.

Pulsating, I realized that cottage is the wrong word.
And here is what I know. If I had such an access,
privilege, I would never press something so hard,
against her heart.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, June 21, 2009

It Seemed That Way


It Seemed That Way


I can see how it seemed that way.
When I looked away, shutting my eyes,
did you see that part? My eyes shut?

What you said was so politically wrong.
No one knew this more than you
in the moment, wanting it all back.

But that same one, that same moment
was, for me, the very opposite
of regret. I searched in it for similarity.

Had to close the lids of me and ask
if I’d ever done anything half as gutsy.
Opening them, I saw yours, closed.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Fifteen Directions


Fifteen Directions


If I recall it was your idea, your uncanny brilliance,
part of your overall scheme of overall improvement.
As if the water, no, drifting on it, fifteen directions
a minute was going to save us. You fell into the bow,
my oar tempting me to push you to the other shore.
But I climbed into the ass of the thing. Shoved off.

Canoeing. Who the hell, in the last hundred years
does this, unforced? When I asked, you sprayed me
with what I’m sure contained caviar. Forepaddling,
I returned the favor, and you turned, a glaring Satan.
Lake dropped from your hair, while you calmly said,
Don’t paddle on the same side as me, for Godsake.

The clouds quit moving. What is it called? A moment?
Where you kept looking at me, swabbed your forehead
and smiled. Oh, devil! I knew then, you were pure evil.
Once an angel, but fallen. And later that night, in bed
I watched you sleeping, smirk. We’ve been here before.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. No. Maybe fourteen times!

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Friday, June 05, 2009

Ape and Essence


Ape and Essence


Machine against desire is no contest,
that’s really what the thing is about.
But no one does this, no one reads it.
Up until this day, this very afternoon,
[and how intent you appear to be] I’m
the only one to get to Bantam’s 152.

Brave New World I can see, or even
Point Counterpoint -- Eyeless in Gaza.
But this one? No. Required reading?
You’re too old! It’s making no sense.
Woman is the source of all deformity,
that’s really what the thing is about.

You reach for your coffee and I mirror.
I sip, as you flip the page, and a vision
arrives. Of you telling me he died when
Kennedy did. You know this? And just
as we begin to discuss his obsession
with hallucinogens I realize I’m an ape.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Flight









Flight


I ran with you, we collected them in a jar.

Together we gathered each glowing, living star.


Your recitations were quenched with a kiss,

And then I told you I have dreamed of this.

I have lived this moment before, in a dream.

Hush
, you whispered. I too. As though I seem --


We both looked at our lamp then. No shade

could ever have dimmed the fire we had made.

Yet, without a word you let them go. We knew.

Freedom was the thing for me and you.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Green Light


The Green Light


By eight, I smiled that smile, the one
resigned to living the most boring night.
Tonight, it would take place. An epitome
of inanity, the new high in lows.
The food was good, and the drinks, well,
drinks are drinks. But all topics are not
topics. Some, more nauseous than those
preceding, make you shiver, and sweat.

As I was doing, on both counts, until,
from three seats closer to escape, a dispute.
About, of all things, the green light in Gatsby.
Can this be real? Intrigued, I turned.
Both of us, disgusted with everything
walked toward a terrace, and on the way
my one thought was, She cannot possibly
look like that, in that skirt.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Tabula Rasa


Tabula Rasa


There is no such thing, unless
you actually are a chalkboard.
Even then, two options emerge.
Recently erased, or never written upon.
No one is a clean slate.

If you are reading this, too late.
If you have ever seen lightning
however distant -- wrinkled your brow
before, or even after, the thunder.
Too late. Toolatetoolate.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

What You Gave


What You Gave


One of my gifts to you was macaroni.
I withheld it, as those busy hands
unwrapping the inferior things, tore.
The bracelet you set to the side, and
how it swallowed the candlelight.

The Hotel New Hampshire beside it.
The button-up sweater, the very one
you thought did not exist --
how it kept your other treasures warm
as I reached, and the flame wobbled.

Handing you that rattly rectangle,
the eyes I saw seared my soul.
You were five kittens, and the laugh
that killed the candle between us
I would swim oceans to hear, forever.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Bookmark


Bookmark


The malls, subway tunnels, airports.
All have those curtained booths.
People giggling huddle.
Climbing into the frame, snap, snap.
Tongues out, eyes crossed, snap.
Snap.

So I buy a used book, and you were alone.
Reading Fitzgerald in the park, I noticed.
The strip of photos, it’s just you.
Placed there, in page 123.
No laughter or tomfoolery.
Witchcraft.

Unnoticed, when I paid the $2.99.
But there you are, four times.
A strip of you, smiling, with this book.
Another four shots, in the other hand.
You did this twice.
Why?

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, May 04, 2009

My Universe


My Universe


It exists for me.
It exists without me.
Key words, for and without.

Let’s start with for.
Was it before me, the universe?
Yes.

Moving on, how about without.
Does it need me?
No.

Maybe we should re-direct.
Focus on the word “my”.
What does that mean?

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Famous Girl


Famous Girl


Guess what. I am famous.
I once used to breathe that sort of air,
the kind you do.
With all kinds of oxygen in it.

It is difficult to remember a day
that was mine. But I have people
that remind me of it.
Almost like having my own calendar.

Tonight I was ushered from a hotel
and fell flat inside, fearing. Will I ever
meet someone like him, again?
Things once left
for nobility to worry about.

Boy in the lobby, leave me.
Please, I am someone different, now.
[Hide me Bigg, from that camera
goddam it, it’s what I pay you to do…]
as many click, and flash –

I am crammed in a car and driven.
Scared of my own image, told, told,
told, told, told, told, TOLD.
But you asked me several things.
You asked me.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

That Branch


That Branch


It was the inauguration of you, perhaps.
Your address to me, so unplanned -- Stealthily
I followed you into that bracken, for kindling.
You thought me the other direction, and soon
I feared my voyeurism would be discovered.

As I was about to deliberately step on a branch
you bent for one. A sacredness descended,
not unlike the second that ticks before the fawn
bounds. Seeing this piece too green, “Fuck
you said, firing it against a moss-covered rock.

I turned, that branch spinning in slow motion.
Before it landed, I was already back at camp,
stoking my own twigs gathered on the way. You
brushing the forest from your sweater, and me
knowing. This was a fire God could not put out.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The Real Dream


The Real Dream


I once thought in these terms
which means I guess I dreamed this way,
also. We think how we dream.
The trick is to begin dreaming different,

I guess. Not since the Big Bang
has there been a single living thing that is
black and white. My guess is that
the original mass contained more color,

than any eyeball has ever evolved to see,
yet. That I may transcend that hindrance,
is all I ask. No seagull has ever been
two colors, not while flying against a sky.

Let me see all of that.
No penguin is two colors.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Mother Mary


Mother Mary


It’s incongruent, the amount of unbelievers
that summon her. Mother Mary, they say,
knowing full well that even her own son
thought her but a mother. [Luke 11:27-28].
In other words, nothing special.

No. That is a misinterpretation.
She breathed the breath of God, obeying it.
As did yours.
There is no such thing as nothing special
when it comes to mothers.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Beginning of the World


Beginning of the World


For months I have been such an animal I wish I would see one.
So I could eat it. No understanding of what comes next, the
stuff in stores is rotting. Morning is day, and day, night, no one
is anywhere, and the most useless thing would be a calendar.

I walk. Wondering why I survived, and then sleep, freezing.
Keep thinking that someone has to be somewhere.
Not a moving bird in days, this is why that flicker of white
startled me. Springing to my feet, I crept, crept, half-running –

and then full out, as I rounded that caved-in building. Were you
an Olympic sprinter, when such a thing made sense? All I know
is that minutes from now, we are pulling potatoes from this fire.
And you stand, beautiful, coming over to my side of the blaze.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Don't Wake Me


Don’t Wake Me


Caught between pinch me and no, don’t!
Because if this is a dream, you know the next line,
right?
I came to the conclusion that I prefer this state,
crazy as it is, last night at the tree lot.
Because I knew it. There I was, admiring symmetry.
Full green triangles. You drifting like a snowbank
toward the orphan section of things.
And I saw you ask the guy with the sock on his head,
how much? No mystery that one’s on sale.
It’s worse than Charlie Brown’s.
I knew then, among other things, that very night
I’d set a star on the highest twig, you holding the ladder.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Friday, April 10, 2009

A Thousand Ears


A Thousand Ears


I lost you in that cavern of a monstrosity, mad as hell.
Me – I was mad. You – you were oblivious.
No, worse, you were the nether side of evolution.
Before sight, when worms in sea-vaults were eating
sulphur, waiting to grow fins that would become legs.
In some Guess store. So I went to the Mall Security.

Announcing your name to a thousand ears, I noticed
the gash in her nylons, and imagined the microphone
recoiling from her breath. At the top of the escalator
I saw you, below. At least one of the thousand ears,
was yours. And two of them, right then, were mine.
I had never been so happy, to know I had found you.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, April 06, 2009

Thirteenth Night


Thirteenth Night


Two weeks in all, to leave now does not seem possible.
These last midnight waves, offspring of that first afternoon.
How they roll within us, anticipation turned to experience,
memory breaking on the beach under a sea of stars.

Tomorrow we shall leave. Tomorrow we take it all away,
because we go together. Nothing will be left behind.
None of these evenings, my love, have been sunsets.
It’s the world that moved and spun as we kicked the sand.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Caw


Caw


Fog of the day in mind, I punch three digits
and leave the building. Alarm set.
Clicking yet another device a lock lifts,
and almost to my car, I stop walking.

So assured of its rightness. Free of constraint.
You will never get from me why I stopped.
But overhead, as black as the set sun
it repeated itself. And looking down, I listened.

I knew what it was, as anyone would, but
for the first time I wanted to know the words.
What sort of declaration was this? Why expend
so much energy while flying, if useless?

For an answer, I looked, but there was only sky.
Now driving, I reach forward to kill the radio.
Oh, to hear that sound again.
We assign three letters to what no book contains.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

Monday, March 30, 2009

Her Lips


Her Lips


She was the first person who loved me that did not
bother me. Before ever meeting her lips, my own
existed to do just that. To touch hers.
Not so much kiss, per se. But to touch.

But in touching, a dictionary opened,
and an aged Oxonian, smiling, dipped his pen in ink.
Laughing, he revised a former statement.
It had said, ”to touch with the lips as a sign of love.”

He stroked this out and looked at a wall.
On that wall a scene of an afternoon picnic unfurled.
Barley waving, aspens whispering, a robin hopping,
and a step from a cliff. On his page, with conviction,
he wrote – “undefinable”.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009