Schlaflos in bukarest

and one

and two

and three

and three waggons sliding their wheels unto my poor, relentlessly exhausted ears.

4 51 and upon my word, dawn has never dawned upon me like today. curtains that keep the darkness in my chamber safe from light, i reckon. then still i urge my eyelids to grow tired again, oh, but no, why should they after eight years -- i beg your pardon --- eight hours of pitiful slumber? no, so she wakes, piece by piece turns to real time and faces the minute chase of the long line after the short one on the clock's full moon.

slowly, perhaps even gently, her mind brings forth its senseless, incompetent torment, of loves gained and morning tendrils, the place whereof lies with time, oh, this shameless cello of things to come, the sheets have gone missing

i no longer forget my thoughts the instant they wave back at me, i know finally that this rant lives through me against time's wish, a sister to a regent king, space, oh, trouble of mine, you chase at people from behind and shame on you for being your own architect

but no, this respondent furnishment of space, time, and water that i am comes back between these walls, leaves her pennyless Phantasie in the exquisite chalet of charm,

it is absurd, I say, to see the solicitude my face is being slammed with by beautiful words, yes, pretty words, which raise your text's value, as that odious moustached gentleman puts it, yes, it is funny tending to odd to observe the merits of my flaws, too insufficient to call me bad,

and yet i write till my gentility of rhyme drops dead,

i condemn poets of today, yet i am one of them

still i fancy that i'm humble and cannot and will not bear this title

difficult how things run, like my nose ere now,

oh, that classroom was so draughty 

and while i write, or better still, type --

but no, liar, i'm tapping, time has passed me by, it seems ---

yes, i fancy this worded apple pie will soothe my sleepless nerves

but now i see that i expired an hour ago, so, so, so late in the night for poor Laura

as it is but ten, Daphne does not agree

still they lend each other's hands

to guide unknown civilians through the land of war

still i am so, so, so very tired

but not of anything, appreciate my sin

salvaging three stars upon a moon

my nights are sweet still,

yet my days are colder

and colder and, and, and

speak up, this is night, hello, how do you do

whoever let me in this madness, i challenge to a duel

but i'll be awake before i am asleep

so don't cry at me that butterflies don't sing

i can sing too, but for now keep out

i feel that i've never been so tired

and she then goes back to her morning ritual

of turning on each side of her soul and what not

till she wakes up,

yes, as if she had been sleeping

Geraldines of New

Doth ye know of combat and brawl
As nothing much but to the peasant's own like?
And doth ye retrieve the heads that shall fall
Mistify your bearance through sword and through spike?
And though this language speaketh she
Though merrily she walks Sundays to the pond
To wash her bloody hands, though her soul still be
Sure in the mind the rebels hold her fond
Doth ye know of tempests and floods
As nothing more but the weather's own will?
Furnish the graves with our rusty rosebuds
And drag us by the hands, if we matter still.
And though these words are music to your ears
Far from insight, or of philosophical blank dwell
You wish we brought our fiddles and your friends the cheers
This chant is ours, beware, we know it well.

Geraldines of Now

Brave, my helping hand, be brave
And never speak of eyes dried out at night
They'll lurch behind your screen of light
To cast their lullaby into our grave
Have no fear yet of what they hide
Thorough as sweet humidity of heart
Scarlet trails behind them is their art
Catching us before we know they lied
I have no need of your flowerbed
Leave our garden before you make it yours
Shame on you if shame is still a dread
Shame on us for opening our doors
Your failure to see is grasping ours
Relentless cowards of time past and now
Frail miseries in us are your greatest powers
Have no fear, helping hands, of what may come
We are here to move ahead, like Sister Time
Crush your melodies, you vassal painted numb
Their dreams are greater than our lives, they chime

Geraldines of Old

And there goes the scent of mulberry trees
Again I rest my grinding thoughts of summer
But lonely in this vernacular humbling mirth
I raise the voice that failed to sing
And then I creep under the poet's bed
Because lonely is she above the crests
Because gentility failed to see me gone
And I remembered the law of spring
That I am new when green is all

All that wept and never laughed
Silently I wait on Time
I know where she is going, and she'll be lost
At the river's bend they wait for us
No, they go ahead, they chant their crimes
She never rests, time, my friend
You were bold once and never twice
I saw their walls, they keep us in
Away from their feathers, so tender
And we taint their blossoms
With our freedoms

But I go ahead and learn my books
Again suffering from myselfness
Not that anybody is disappointed,
No, they need us all preoccupied