...
Throw things at her, which is something I very much like to do—
Small rakes, postal scales, aluminum belt buckles, Venetian glass clowns—
As soon as you start to hurt her, you should stop
And kiss her bruises, make much of them, draw a circle around each hit
With a bold felt pen. In this way you can try to hit the same spots over and over again
As the little park grows larger the more you look at it
But the flowers are in another story, a lemon-covered volume, stop! The knees
Of this girl are now looking very pretty, so go and kiss them
And slip your hands around the back of them and feel what is called
The inside of the knee and tell her you love her.
If she is able to talk she will probably ask you to take her down,
Which you then can do. However, if she wants to stay up there
As blue day changes to night, and is black in the hemispheres, and boats go past
And you are still feeling wonderful because of her beautiful eyes
And breasts and legs, leave her there and run up against her
As hard as you can, until the very force of your bumping
Breaks tape from nail or girl from tape or breaks great chunks of wall
So you and she lie tumbled there together
Bruises on her body, plaster on your shoulders, she bloody, she hysterical, but joy in both your hearts.
Then pull off the tape if it hasn’t come off
And bite her to the bone. If she bites you back, appoint her
“Lover” for a while and let her do all this to you. That is,
If you’d like it. You’ll suffer, of course, from being less beautiful than she
And less soft, less inviting to cause pain to. To be a great lover,
However, you must be a great actor, so try, at least once.
Oh the animals moving in the stockyards have no idea of these joys
Nor do the birds flying high in the clouds. Think: tenderness cannot be all
Although everyone loves tenderness. Nor violence, which gives the sense of life
With its dramas and its actions as it is. Making love must be everything—
A city, not a street; a country, not a city; the universe, the world—
Make yours so, make it even a galaxy, and be conscious and unconscious of it all. That is the art of love
...
Koch nwanne!!
it continues, download the complete poems HERE