Lie Down in My Poem

I’d like for you to lie down in my poem
Sleep in the center of my verse
And awaken on the tip of my quivering quill.
On days when you are absent, I am like impoverished gold or rusted salt
I am like austral ice that clings to its transient existence.
Can I melt upon your breast? Will you allow me?

I’d like for you to lie down in my poem
Let flowers falling from your folding hair blossom in my lines
Plant silver pears near my adjectives
And allow your beauty to radiate like dashes of fire attacking my running metaphors.
Will you bathe in the dew dripping from my syllables
Or maybe bask in the light glowing from my ink?
Did you know that your primeval moans shape the shaky structure of my poetic theorems
And that the frozen topaz fleeing from your inner thigh inspires my muse?

I’d like for you to lie down in my poem
Rest your weary body upon my rough consonants
Let your kisses trail my nouns like thirsty bloodhounds
And in the white seas separating my spacious words, dive for flourishing treasures;
Treasures lost by ancient Persian emperors.
Will you bear your chaste smile in my similes?
Please, my dear — don’t let my verse become muddied with despair
Let it speak of heavenly smoke, dancing petals, beaming grapes and loves that will not break.
So tonight, serenaded by the smooth voice of nightingales, fall fast asleep in my poem.



Where Have You Gone?

Where have you gone?
I’ve searched for you under hot rocks, inside burning carnations and above throbbing honeysuckle,
Yet you are nowhere.
I looked for our kisses in shattered sheets,
Yet they have flown to unknown planets.

Where have you gone?
I’ve trekked for you in deserted deserts sick with solitude,
Yet you are nowhere.
I hunted for your eyes in sleeping jungles,
Yet they have hidden themselves in parched skies.

Where have you gone?
I’ve pursued you into estuaries drenched in despair,
Yet you are nowhere.
I traced your imperial scent like a lonely bloodhound,
Yet it has dissipated into dark corridors.
Please don’t leave me here dying of absence.
Tell me, my dear — Where have you gone?

Until the blood from my pen runs dry, I shall worship the Greek body, the Greek mind and the Greek soul.
Until my tears land upon Greek soil, I shall forever live in exile.

In the Thracian hills, my Greek spirit shall rise.
My strong soul shall spear the Persian hordes.
They shall feel the wrath of the Greek soul — Yes, that immortal soul.
Under Thermopylae’s hot gates, Spartan valor will reign supreme.
Unified Greek blood shall form rivers of freedom — Rivers that satiate a man’s spirit.

In Aegina, I shall sleep in beds of olives,
And on the silver beaches of Naxos, I will dance until dawn with noble peasants.

In the Corinthian countryside, the moon’s fire shall awaken my Greek spirit. In Paros, my bold blood shall be replaced with rich wine,
And in Sifnos, my carnal lips shall be the playthings of Greek goddesses — we shall worship Dionysus in the dark lustful hills.
From the peaks of Mount Olympus, I shall hoist old rocks until I am proclaimed a pagan God,
And in Athens, poetry shall be the only language.

Until the blood from my pen runs dry, I shall worship the Greek body, the Greek mind and the Greek soul.
Until my tears land upon Greek soil, I shall forever live in exile.



I want to dine on satellites lined with white chocolate and arrogant gold

I want to dine on satellites lined with white chocolate and arrogant gold
I’d like to bask in the luminous gaze of a silver apple,
And sleep in a yellow cherry’s womb.
I want suns sprouting leaping toads
I’d like to ice skate on the tip of the frozen wind,
And fly with the stolen eyelashes of Persian women.
I want to catapult styrofoam rocks at the scared sun,
And adopt weaves of tanned skin.

Wouldn’t it be grand to write exclamations of lust inside molten caves?

I’d like to climb shrinking hills that transform into speckles of dust,
And throw virginal spoons at erotic pigeons.
I want to play with red coals oozing fleeing lint,
And bathe in shimmering shards of goat blood.

Wouldn’t it be glorious to plant quartz inside lonely lagoons?

I want to present ferocious Islamic blood to the crusading pope,
And martyr an obscure ant.
I’d like to rant to Emperors of Sadism,
And strike sugary salt onto coarse wax paper.

I’d like to devise symmetrical tables of lips to escape the rain
I want to dance naked around a pagan fire flaming of scarves,
And plant mercurial trees that grow ivory leaves.

Someday, I’ll fast on French cheese and Panamanian wine
Someday, I’ll eat garlic reeking of sinful sex,
But today, I think I’ll emigrate to communistic asylums of the sane.

I’d like to become a Sufi God for 34 haughty seconds
I want to create my own language where every phrase begins with, ‘habibi’ and ends with ‘ya nour il ain’
I’d like to replace subservient souls in heaven with rebellious ones in Lucifer’s abode

And finally, I’d like to drop acid and write stilted British verse like, “Oh my dear Charlotte, how I miss you so.”







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