The Brightest of Stars




The brightest of stars fell between the hills
It landed in the forrest where no cars could go
The lovers went there every year to see how far they could walk 
When they could walk no further they would make love
Two chests covered in hair tangling more with every heartbeat.

The brightest of stars fell between the waves
It landed in the ocean where no boats could go
The lovers went there every year to see how far they could swim 
When they could swim no further they would make love
Four feet treading water as two heartbeats kept them afloat

The brightest of stars fell between the South and the North
It landed in the city of the boy who fed on Wolf's milk
the lovers went there to collect and return it
But they could not bare its weight so they sat it on the monument to Apollo
and they made love, in the light of the brightest of stars

Il più luminoso delle stelle è caduto fra le colline
Ha atterrato in un più forrest dove nessun uccello avrebbe atterrato
Gli amanti hanno camminato negli alberi, per vedere fin dove potrebbero camminare
Farebbero una pausa e farebbero l'amore quando gli alberi avrebbero ostruito il loro senso
Due cuori che battono faccia a faccia due uomini che tengono le mani

Il più luminoso delle stelle è caduto fra le onde
ha atterrato in una parte del mare non scoperto
Gli amanti sono andato là ogni anno da nuotare fuori oltre le onde
Il momento di fare l'amore era quando l'orizzonte aveva sparito
Quattro piedi danno dei calci al mare mentre due cuori battono le onde

il piu luminoso delle stelle è caduto fra il sud ed il nord
Ha atterrato nella città del lupo, la città delle colline
Gli amanti sono andato là trovare la stella e restituirli al cielo
non potrebbero trasportare la stella, quindi la hanno sepolta sotto statua di Apollo
Ed amore fatto alla musica della luce della luna romana

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lake Daff-Dilly

Image
Fish on the water Scales floating back and forth Grey clouds hanging high White clouds beneath A naked man asleep Drowsy with whiskey Strange sunlight on his calves His chest slowly rising, slowly falling The smell of wild herbs Smoke from the kitchen fire Sex on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly Old myths talk of death The women think of birth Some wish they could leave The men pray on boats Trout stumble in their wake Drunk on the water's cold The flies were made by old hands The rod belonged to a dead uncle God I hope there is more whiskey The fire is still going I want you on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly
Read more

Blind Me And Guide Me

Image
What is it you want me to believe in? Is it the flock of birds flying like joined roses floating The peak of sensual age? I turn Twenty Nine and the climax is mine The plea of a generation held together by torture? The torture of the prophets- Whitman, he nurses us Is it the course touch of a hand roughened by sand and rock? The path that applauses every step to Sodom The generous buddhist- bearded with eyes closed? In bed with the russian before dawn, We Let Him Down! The cold winter warmed by cynicism and a centuries irony? You can warm my arse with your country charm The poets lining their pockets with fools gold? Lining up to be shot by the artists- a war with out generals The skeleton with eyes to the stars? Awake and noticing how the apple never rots Is it the shop keeper that keeps everything shaded? The man who keeps a statue of Apollo at the bottom of his pool The mongrel God of Egypt and Babylon? So large his nose was singed by the sun Is it the song of hope written in the s
Read more

Whose Language Will I Speak?

Image
Allow me a little time to rest the clamour Upon the contours of your form The mirror gaze within your reply Will flash and fall and rise and build response Verbal shouts and gutteral groans In my room we both are right In hotels we are wrong Where will we die? Where will we scatter? Face down, lovers bodies, Russian grasses, Russian ice Before that I will paint you I will bury you in colour, on canvas While you tell me of your youth Of chasing birds and pretending you could fly The clamour is merely collection of one stands A collection of songs Trapped within my head, resting on your form And the guardian angles are sculpted into the architecture And I can see beautiful shade below your stomach As your leg is raised and it is an arch One to hold and make prayers from As I bow down and taste the flesh of man What will happen to us? Where will you die? You who was born to the poet and the siren Where will I go? Me, the hunter who has yet to return from the hi
Read more