Apple Anyone Sonnets
A note on the ďApple Anyone ĒSeriesĒ: the key words in
these texts are all English words derived from
Arabic, or words suspected of being of such derivation.
At a certain point these words felt as if they were
becoming segregated or ghettoized by the compositional
processĖ which is where Shakespeare texts
came in as their basic structure, as the conservative
core and pride of the English language.
The ďlistĒ of words at the end of each poem thus becomes
a sounding of the music of interdependency.
Apple Anyone 1
Shall I portray you as a blazing afternoon?
The freaking almanac didnít forecast amber rain.
Wind whipped to shreds ballyhooed Doppler readings
As your typhoon tongue lashed my latest wants.
So the sunís golden boasts are bested by bullying clouds,
each of our arsenals costing us our alchemy.
Yet no cloud shall dim my loveís manic barbs.
Neither will my eyes become gauze, or ghouls;
no Nothingness shall brag of drowning me in Styx.
A single whiff from the carafe of years suggests there is more
to speech, a crocus thrusts at the barbarian of description.
As long as its a carob for a carob, a copt for a copt, bedouins
lead us far into an arch-alcohol weíre the ones to ferment.
arsenal alchemy gauze
carob Copt Bedouin
Apple Anyone 2
You are more orange than oranges, more red than blood orange.
Coffee masks enervation, Iím still awake, checkmated by night;
life packs in too much racket to know calmís truest state and form.
And during the day its way too hot, thanks to the pushy sun.
Thus the safari is unshackled from its safety net.
So rice is checked, guitars jar, spinach is lacquered in a can.
In the constant flux of things all good from goods must fail.
But you do not mask from sight those gifts you possess,
alchemy on a wavy mattress among lightly waving fronds.
In words to you groves will always glow, the purpose
of so many night presences suddenly made lilac.
So long as poets pick fruit, these hands pick you.
orange coffee checkmate
safari rice guitar jar
lacquer mask alchemy
Apple Anyone 3
As big waves flip out onto rocky coast so our days finish abruptly.
The oceanís tributaries show their dhows: appearance is a cipher.
As childhood, that deep alembic, in floods of light
crawls to maturity, where which to crouch, calling itself a King.
And as we change positions with what was finishing at our birth
hope builds its harem in serif, like rice collecting saffron.
A guitar-shaped bench trembles to its own rhythm!
Light wants to fix in place the flourish it dabs on things -
this great esplanade of sesame, magazines wide,
something wished for, made of marabout and lime.
As names of fruit nourish unusual bits of unconscious truth.
Nothing is born but for the sword to assassinate
and still, in their hiddenness, from red shift to red shift
I praise your alcoves, and the oceans wildest dilations.
dhow cipher alembic
harem serif saffron guitar
lime assassinat alcove
Apple Anyone 4
Iím not going to dignify the proposition
that this our hazardous union of minds
has flaws - a kiss is not a kiss
which scuffs if it finds some scuffing.
Iím talking about a tattoo in thought,
something that canít be erased by monsoonís anger.
When you garb yourself for love, think sequined sash,
damasked but garbled minaret:
Something that will appear a star for all those sailors
of unknown worth, like us, fleeing the latest massacre.
Constancy is no clockís fool; like kohl to lid
ear clings to lip until the drop-off point of doom.
If you can cinch it that Iím wrong, Iíll shut up,
drop all my claims concerning the human carat.
hazard tattoo monsoon
minaret massacre kohl
Apple Anyone 5
Why is it my words always touch this particular?
I stay afloat on language Iíve plucked from Sufi summer,
my trysts with words the same one wooed, mascared, talced.
Though the lute of a genii is as outdated as last yearís atlas,
though a belated troubadour sings of checkmate move by move,
yet no monumental rock shall outlast these our silly constructs:
that which glints brightly in such tariffed compositions
is a gazelle among orange groves, a mecca in the mouth.
Here comes a tabby whose scratch will leave a lasting mark,
or else a taffeta from a quarter of town recently hit by bombs,
or all the cotton ever picked, the laborious wizard enslaved inside
Why is it my words always touch this one particular?
As the sun is daily both bouncy and flat so we transact
only what we can minaret, darting among damasked ruins.
Sufi mascara talc genii
atlas troubadour checkmate tariff
orange mecca tabby taffeta
cotton wizard minaret damask
Apple Anyone 6
To go on in an ideology that is patrolled by admirals
all praised to the hilt, each awarded triple scoops of sherbet,
sugars gushing in banana and lime, or to grab up pails against
a whole Mediterranean of pain, and by opposing, drain it?
The road to Baghdad: it is an orgasm religiously sought.
To slow my brain and by night to say we stopped all that:
a saffroned vulture scuffs the dirt it lands in until every man
looks inward, acknowledging his own mulatto ground
and the thousand gauzy masks our bodies are mom to.
To slow my brain - to slow my brain!
And during that slowing to succumb to a new fantasy,
a woman with corneas like coffee beans, a coiled mortality
uncoiling, amalgam, not amalgam, that is not a jackal -
a vocabulary, a calamity, and at last, a casualty list.
admiral sherbet sugar banana
mulatto gauze cornea
Apple Anyone 7
I lost contact with you for just one morning and all the music
turned to arsenic, in my mind I barely maintained your image.
Now, while you dream of ponies, petals gush from your eyes:
apricot oíclock, orange oíclock, after which comes lime.
So I am partly blind and partly sighted, like those blue shrubs
reputed to be filled with elixir of bird when all they really do
is interlock with whatever happens to pass, in pure contingency,
and its mostly birds, and grains of sugar, and amulet candy.
Over these shifting truths the mind has no hold, our hands
liming mascara into the tabbied skin of twilight, talismanic hour.
Mountain top and salt spray gush, all part of your massage.
Donít be naïve: they can send assassins by guitar too.
Yet quietude fills the carafe of hours, orange fills that quietude,
there is nothing yet to mourn: you are here, it is all still here.
guitar arsenic apricot
orange lime shrub elixir
sugar amulet candy mascara
tabby talisman gush massage