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Jacket 19 — October 2002   |   # 19  Contents   |   Homepage   |  Catalog   |
This issue of Jacket is a collaboration with Verse magazine

Ray Gonzalez

Two poems


Love in this age of screens and crosses,
  broken saxophones winding down
the stairs to set fire to the skirts of girls.

Love in the capsized corridors of perfume
  where distant fathers sleep on the walls,
their century old beards growing beyond

decoration, the gallery of fine dust bringing
  their sons to stare and stare.
Love in the idea of cascading waterfalls,

blue fish flying up the curtains to obtain sorrow,
  spawn erasures of memory inside water
where love invented the idea of evolution.

Love in the piano keys of divorce, the whispers
  lasting a lifetime, making the couple order more wine,
shadows at their table moving closer to what

might have been, glasses tinkling, smoke
  arriving, the story of a crafted wildness
lost before an expensive meal.

Love in the year of taking, then asking,
  love promoted as extinct starfish,
their patterns on the foreheads of the forgiven

slowly turning red as the night deepens,
  as those lovers touch what they
weren’t suppose to find, the starfish

dreaming it is only love and there is
  a blue current hurtling them
to a deeper cave on the other side.


Into the desert in search of signatures.
Into the cage to retrieve the laughing man.

Into the hair to trace the blood vein.
Into the sky, to follow the bird.

Into the language to congregate everything.
Into the moisture to recall the love.

Into the fish to see the lion.
Into the snake to calm the father.

Into the orange to peel the lemon.
Into the apple to destroy the seed.

Into the garden to stand up again.
Into the name to drown the past.

Into the swollen ground to scare up a new forest.
Into the body to forgive the sparrow.

Into the border wire to sweat alone.
Into the mountain shadow to bear the light.

Into the question to argue about the dragonfly.
Into the smile to amplify the scream.

Into the pattern to kneel alone.
Into the scarf without a face.

Into the sleep to choose the rain or the moon.
Into the morning to eat at the table.

Into the house to ignore one room.
Into the room to parachute toward earth.

Into the brain to stay alive.
Into the sound to adore the music.

Into the belly button as the flaming wheel.
Into the eyes so no words will appear.

Into the palm to feel what is hidden.
Into the truth to massage its wings.

Jacket 19 — October 2002  Contents page
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