moron-hearted
i like the present time
with you,pablo
i have no hopes
of what you may ask
but blush to think
of loves true-blue finger
that tower of flesh guernica
into this guernica with
you of the gore-emptied heart
the blue bull broken heart
not the cracked
fragmented strain of etched horse
and toreador
picadoring colour
lanced by loves full
thrust and dove-dolour
de la mancha ,don quixote
de l'amor,empty-hearted

2.
si,pablo yo sono contento
in love,for
in love we tilt at windmills anew
i hold in a face
a single white silk flowered
handkerchief thorned by you
and frown are you asleep i wonder now
or is this your arts amnesia
the language of a
land, that we no longer care about?

pablo,mi amor
i no longer want to fix the road
that leads to my garden
did you give it all up too i wonder?
did the vitamin shakes help or
did you just give up?
surrender to the demon
of what use was the demon prize
for olga and for helena struggling
on the studiofloor of that

your choicest
memory?
but struggling for what
exactly?

meteoritic mammaries
and salvador in the corner
painting pterdactyls of
womans hides stretched over
cliffs of timeless stone
melting clocks and forlorn
post-radiatic beaches
on the road to the garden of love
of what use was the demons
gift for them pablo, mi amor
che?
quieresmi amor?
quien es?quien es?

3.
your goddess wants to speak
to me in spanish and sing and sing for
she has a bird that whistles tears
and the vestal statue
of her birthplace she
sings and sings
and stares towards
infinity,the telephone poles
the city, the wires, the houses,
the skyscrapers of flinted ice
and bright light

pablo,keep your lines!
your webs!Your etchings,actions and your
lies!
Keep your time before the apocalyptic bridge
before
the marching war between men and women
before you sold your scribbles
on paper napkins
at st paul de vence
on paper napkins.
and
antonine held court
to all those fancy american movie stars
dressed in cowboy
suits
cowboy cowboy o boy
bang! bang!

4.
in your place
i lust for a hunger
there in that face for
she weeps thrust back
and tearless i lust for the catholic
mouth open toothless
lipless,
flat,like
the busted light that hung
over that night
of this century
staring from the canvas
those 60 years ago

o grief
ogrief!
o grief!
espana dolorosa
terra sacra
sangre sacra
mi amor! mi corrazon!
amor sacra de
mi corrazon!
amor antica de mi corazzon!
o grief o love mater!
dolorosa
advent of the worm's turn
trains of night!

there is a no fascist
confluence here
pablo of the spanish hands
here in l.a. stronger
that paternoster franco {if
i
could only see
into your landscape
of dreaming}

into Her duende dream
of marbled lands
green with envy and red with
the red silk handkerchiefs
of matron and of puella
mujer and senorita
cape in hand ask you senora
where is it the red blood
flows out?
lacrimosa!
is it in
toro-hombre in the
black pitted bread you eat?
or within the
cold fish-hearted sands
of the distant viewings of
cities long lost?

Does she float in the tunnel winds
high above the white clapped
cities thrust from the
wide hipped
pebbly sea?Pablo

Soon it will be easter here.
and i stick around cratered
by the first rung of love
in
a buzzing spring
of wonder
how did I get so lost?

how did you, in your
insomniac studio late
beneath the stellar glow
of that single busted lamp
beneath the motor roar
of jump-above-the-clouds
luftwaffe
leave for the spiritus
of landscape and face
live so long,i wonder?

how sad and hopeful
you were on that journey
with ink and paper and brush
Saint Empty Pablo di Picasso

de la machina of girls and woman
painting naked on beaches
your large belly hanging whale like
fixing your bulbous eyes,towards
that ameobic stare of empty heaven
towards an astronomy of girls
where all your men
are bulls again
and your fears ring true.

5.
in Earthquake Weather
in los angeles on this
thursday afternoon viewing
of your weeping women on the
night before GoodFriday

i am reminded of those other
women that wept & wept
and the whole cascade of
weeping men and women
as
i cross wilshire blouleveard

in the dry stick desert land
of leaving desert
behind i walk thru plains and
rivers
leaving granada behind
weeping towards toledo

with a bright memory
of desire and loss
i leap towards the bright face of love's
half open eyes &
that single lidless face of yours
hold your painted hand