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Song of the beast

I, unmentionable beast borne out
of the turmoil of a realm crushed
by the tectonic wrath of our times, embed
a scar that paints itself in blood red
on to the calm undulations of the hours.

The blue spat me out into this unsuspecting island.
I flew North across the abysm, a place uncertain
of its nadir made me, a narrow strip of earth perched
between muscular mountains and a rancorous ocean,
greying wings dusty with the ashes of centuries past.

Lawns impeccably manicured, their own poet lurking
underneath tickling the roots of daily things, Volvos waiting
for their ritual weekend wash; thundering down with a savage
streak masked by a cryptic smile and a funny accent
I came, silent, crouching, waiting, catlike.

Her statuesque poise struck a note
with me, she is no Ancient Greek; like it
or not, goddess from suburbia she is.
The sun was ready to take its tea break
when she ruffled my innards, abducting my brain.

The old traveller was left, contemptuous of regulations
and scalding hot with longing, running amok with no stops
as the mind, inveterate jailer, tries in vain to imprison
it with barbed wire, feeble pretension of good behaviour.
Her rather enigmatic but contemporary smile says it all.

Is it possible to utter and marvel ever again at a word
repeated, knees rooting, millions, billions, trillions
of times before? I, arrogant bastard as I am, lay
the claim to say it once more, yet anew it will sound.
I will not declaim it in here, I will whisper it in her ear.

I lay these lips of mine, monstrous,
crawling with murmurs of unbridled lust,
on her recoiling ears, so diaphanous,
to pour an unholy hunger in her mind
to quench a desire that is everything but gone.

Words are little things with souls like blades, loose,
shadowing a dislocated body, crazy cells, clattering bones,
stormy spin, an inscrutable mask split open, atoms
of invisible energy wanting to burn her skin with ardour.
Do girls, little or not, really fear hungry beasts?

My little words shake her sinuous contours,
features shattered by seismic tremors
into myriads of shards, shivering zeroes
under the dark winterly northern light, the frost
exploding into wishful unsung tumultuous songs.

Shielding herself from shameful leers she is,
hiding behind the shyness of honey hair, well kept,
as I seek to elucidate the mysteries of peaks
and ravines with spear-eyes. Look at how her being dazzles
my sometimes tired reptilian gaze!

A voice below shallow skin hums, softly, mere whispers lost
within her immense pupils; now it cries, loud,
wolf-like howls, the very happy ending it strives
for, like in a Hollywood movie, elopes in sheer panic,
a migrating bird gone as blue deserts the sky.

The streets of the hard forest are few and far between to conceal
her harsh steps as she seeks refuge from the stare
of narrow slits and impudent lips which know no limits,
embracing lights cuddle her away to dwell in her nest.
Beware, the beast comes out at night to feast little Red Cap.

© Pablo Luis González 2004

Published in Aesthetica, A Review of Contemporary Artists: Issue 9, March 2005