Beauty

Carpets and Anarchy

It hung around us like the smell of newly – washed carpet
And we know a lot about those – don’t we?
Is there a bigger fool than me?
For thinking maybe – maybe she didn’t feel the same way –
as I did, when I saw her distantly clutching
Her purse – subtly showcasing
The slender artist’s fingers –
forgive me, and forgive – my insanity
I am like a wary pigeon now saying,
To itself: “Hopefully, it’s her there,
Or here” – looking cautiously
Is she around me? I see –
passers-by and lesser souls and
Hearts never so soft and velvety
She’s not around me, but when she was
It hung around us like the breath of God – this newborn baby love
Kicking loudly – like the soul of the world screaming anarchy,
saying: “Notice me!”
I am, I am, I am –
I am constantly!
But I ignored it because I was – afraid
afraid that we weren’t
In parity, equality, balance – I thought –
only I could love so dearly; and I wonder:
Is there a bigger fool than me?

But does it matter?
Fools are the luckiest folk anyway.
The fruit of heaven’s tree lay
In my way – maybe the Devil is just
Heartbroken, and once
Was like me: in love – and madly still
And jealous of Adam and Eve and
the trill of the first wedding bell – in history
Maybe the Devil’s revenge on the world of lovers –
is Hell.

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Thank God it Was, Thank God it Wasn’t

Thank God – you know,
I didn’t thank god so much as when
I thanked him for the first time – when I thought:
“God is beautiful and loves beauty”;
well then: that explains it.
Thank God it was you who dresses to kill – and not me
I couldn’t pull off a leather jacket
half as well as you; see –
when I wear one, I get compliments –
but you do it and the planet forgets its own… gravity –
does that mean things start floating about uncontrollably?
Not necessarily – it just means you are opium,
and the world wants to get high – on beauty.
It upsets me – to have to share a joint with the world because yes,
I’ll say it – I act selfishly!
Because He – sent you, and He
Doesn’t play with dice and doesn’t –
Act randomly – Will you excuse me?
If I paint your name on the insides of my veins;
like shop signs in vulgar gold lettering saying proudly:
“Welcome!” and admitting – quite openly – who the shop owner is.
Thank God the names
Of the prince of Arab poets, and the prince of Persian verse –
rhyme comfortably: Al Mutanabbi makes poetic love –
to Ferdawsi.

—side note: the first one means
“One Who Claims to be a Prophet”
and the second means:
“Arising from paradise”—

Thank God, honestly – because I get to claim prophethood and you
as my own miracle – from Divinity!
In school they told me: God sent the Arabs his word
because they were people of poetry;
Then I must be the people of love, Lovely;
they believed instantly – Those people
Of pen and word and book
My God is in your eyes, darling
And like them –
One look was all it took.