Wednesday, July 6, 2016

FRANKS ~






edited by Garrett Caples & Julien Poirier



H A I K U


for Frank O' Hara



I

The lights are out

The cats are hungry

The room is full of gangsters



II

The dishes are dirty

The icebox is empty

I dream of celery and a compass



III

The roof is upstairs

The window next door

A guitar in the shower




IV

The hours disappear in my room

Where is my blue pistol

The door-god is knocking










F R A N K   O' H AR A



My heart wears a pair

Of shoes that once belonged

To a young poet.



Whose blood was as fresh

As water.

Whose seatbelt was the hair

Of beautiful women.



Who slept in a thousand dreams

Made of beds.

Who had a friend whose heart

Was a kite tied to a string.



Who was eaten by a taxi

Lost on a beach of fire



My dear friend still comes to me

After all these years.

To die once again and to stare

At the holes in my heart.


4.19.98







O K L A H O M A     A M E R I C A



          The fathers of America
have ruined the mountains
          The mothers of America
have dried the river beds
          The children of America
are dying at play
          Our forefathers watch our
neonates mouse the words of freedom
          Worms vagrant fallopian worms


Are birds freedom?
Are children sheep?

This is the year of the bullet
Of white professional homework
Of Nagasaki fertilizer
Of cheap fuel oil
Of tender SS movies
This is oncotic Americana
This is why fish will fly to heaven

We are the widow of our dreams
We are shrinking in their skin
We are attached to their wisdom

Look at the thermos colored sky
Fame flying on TV
They wash their hands in our womb
Where the dead know the stars
Are sleeping children
Like the procession of equinox
Condensing our fate

We are the Furies of entropy
We have killed
A hundred million
Human trees this century

Who will wear their clothes?
Death is as round as an apple
Holding a child ever so gently

They no longer see the kangaroo
They cannot touch
The innocent mirror
With their wet hands
The tears are drowning
In their sand pails
Like lyrical lips
The mothers will never be
The sun on their faces

O my beloved country
Where is the antelope of love?
Why does the earth
Turn away from the sun?
Why are the children covered
With concrete
Rain
And neglected
Specks of freedom?


4.25.95


___________________

F R A N K     L I M A
Incidents of Travel in Poetry
City Lights Books 2015





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