no words

painting by jean-michel basquiat

I am the deliberate intrusion: Abbas.
I am as the hated morning disliked and resisted.
I have taken over this blog with the intent to post a poem. The poem that has been posted is a lament about the night. I was always one who loved the night, but now with a new career in the horizon--my dear night has been lost. This untitled poem laments you, my dear night; you, who had always froze time and diluted its realities, brining near the taste of eternity before the morning sun.

The poem is untitled but numbered—because I removed it from its mother’s nest— and I must return this egg soon enough before the mother cobra counts the poems, discovers one missing, and comes looking for me in my dreams as I sleep.

Please feel free to post comments—preferably in those sacredly blind AM HOURS—ambiguities will be cleared away as soon as I wake up.





#2

You know what you should practice?

The sucker punch—It ‘s bad.

The Dark night walks in on violence and desires to remain blind until morning beats it to sleep.
Then is when you will see it with powerful sun eyes.

High as a criminal.

And his breathing animal cage.

Survive dear beast.

Being put here—I can speak for you.

But…I chose to occupy the middle where good gives me depth
And bad gives me somber depth.

The color some say about here is grey.

But I see the assassin in the hills—I see him spotting you cold
He’s dressed in black and green remains the shield.

Above—Jupiter—Exploding—Red—Storms.

But you see me as bottomless black.

But Void inside you is room for a spider’s sac of eggs,
Occupying you next.

Hours later you will see

I’ll return and you will see.



Abbas Bazzi December 2006.