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Jack Spicer, moon, in English Clear filters

AnxiousJack Spicer

Bacchus

An untouched green murmur. The figtree wants to extend me its branches. Like a panther its shadow Stalks my poet shadow. The moon has words with the dogs. She is mistaken and begins over. Yesterday, tomorrow, black, and green Troop around my circle of laurel. Where would you look for my lifetime If I exchanged my heart? -- And the figtree shouts at me and advances Terrible and extended.
AnxiousJack Spicer

The Moon and Lady Death

The moon has marble teeth How old and sad she looks! There is a dry river There is a hill without grass There is a dead oak tree Near a dry river. Lady Death, wrinkled, Goes looking for custom At the heels of a crowd Of tenuous phantoms. Near the dead oak tree Near the dry river There is a fair without trumpets And tents made of shadow. She sells them dry paint Made of wax and torture,
SadJack Spicer

Song of Two Windows

Wind, window, moon (I open the window to the sky) Wind, window, moon (I open the window to the earth) Then From the sky The voices of two girls. In the middle of my mirror A girl is drowning The voice of a single girl. She holds cold fire like a glass Each thing she watches Has become double. Cold fire is Cold fire is. In the middle of my mirror
DreamyJack Spicer

Ballad of Sleeping Somewhere Else

The pine needles fall Like an ax in the forest. Can you hear them crumble There where we are sleeping? The windows are close to the wall Here in the darkness they remain open. (When I saw you in the morning My arms were full of paper.) Five hundred miles away The moon is a hatchet of silver. (When I saw you in the morning My eyes were full of paper.) Here the walls are firm They do not crumble and remain certain. (When I saw you in the morning My heart was full of paper.)
DreamyJack Spicer

He Died at Sunrise

Night of four moons And a single tree, With a single shadow And a single bird. I look into my body for The tracks of your lips. A stream kisses into the wind Without touch. I carry the No you gave me Clenched in my palm Like something made of wax An almost-white lemon. Night of four moons And a single tree At the point of a needle Is my love, spinning.
DreamyJack Spicer

Verlaine

A song Which I shall never sing Has fallen asleep on my lips. A song Which I shall never sing-- Above the honeysuckle There's a firefly And the moon stings With a ray into the water-- At that time I'll imagine The song Which I shall never sing. A song full of lips And far-off washes A song full of lost Hours in the shadow
DreamyJack Spicer

The Little Halfwit

I said, "Afternoon" But it wasn't there. The afternoon was another thing Which had gone someplace. (And the light shrugged its shoulders Like a little girl. "Afternoon" But this is useless, This is untrue, this has to it Half a moon of lead. The other Will never get here. (And the light that everyone sees Played at being a statue.) The other one was tiny And ate pomegranates. This one is big and green and I'm not able To grab her in my arms or dress her.

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