Andrej Bilovsky's Poems




Seeker


I traveled to Mexico

to see the star

from some place

where there

were no competing stars

on earth


I chose the desert, 

the terrain to match 

arid emotion, 

a spirit composed 

of mostly lizards 

and occasional snakes


I wanted just 

one consistent twinkle 

amid the lights 

from the universe's 

hundred billion galaxies


something to take with me 

on my next expedition 

to the heart of the insanity 

with its wretched neon 

or suffocating cloud cover


I gravitated

to the middle of nowhere 

while my eyes sought out 

the first light of somewhere


I was hard ground 

long-lived fire 

dark as my surrounds 

but hopeful


My Presence


I walk around at lunchtime 

clanging change in my pocket,

whether it's San Francisco 

or New York or even Paris.

I'm like one of those cows

on the Swiss hillsides

that jangle the bells around their throat

every time they take a step.


Whether you're waitress 

or construction worker,  

I'm the sound you hear,

rattling away with my fingers,

on average four or five times a week.


And then some down-and-out

asks me for a quarter.

How can I tell the guy

I've got no spare change 

when I'm playing castanets

with my silver and coppers?

Yes, I have some change

but my presence can't spare it.


The Loss of a Party Girl


Can you believe it—

a free spirit culling her own wings,

adorned in black sequined bodice dress

or long-sleeved striped tee

stretching at the stomach.


It's not her everyday response to clothes,

dispensing with belts,

burying her swelling cleavage

in a coffin bra.


Suddenly so ripe,

her taste for other harvests fades.

And, more and more,

she's drawn to her nest

of cotton, blanket, mattress,

with a mad peanut-butter, ice-cream diet

to feed her days of confinement.


We know her better than to say

she loves the man

but she favors him

above all others

for the father of this child.


Friends come by, in awe, in disbelief,

that she no longer parties.

But light parties on her cheeks.

Her lips party with the words she speaks.

Her shape parties with her body as it was.

Even the kid's a party—

a kick escorts a cramp,

a dream state comforts a waking state.












 

 





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