WHAT IT IS

by Ralph Dumain

My penis wired to my library,
now engorged.
Clandestinity of comprehension
reinforced by the warmth of my glance
hiding the haunted eyes.
Who could have guessed
the more you warm up to me the farther away I am,
not being able to speak truth to lies,
and yet we are strangely connected.
Oh Eros keeping us afloat,
Oh the hope couched in this instant,
reaching out violating space
beyond all wormholes,
laughing at yesterday
and tomorrow.
Joy-drops from the eyes of time
burning their power into the wall of helplessness,
oh thou poignant glance, thou misunderstood sadness,
thou prudence of the two-fold smile.
Who am I to be desired or not,
directly or in evasion, truths too
terrible to be spoken, music
too passionate to be heard?

(Sunday 29 October 1995, 3:10 am EST)

©1995, 2003 Ralph Dumain. All rights reserved.

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