More Poetry of Alex Gildzen

The Search For Musk

it's the hankering that drives us
the memory of tongues


in a room that remains the same
we repeat the scenario
shut off another kind of moon


fingers find jungles
for fainted eyes to rest in
sweat collects in culs-de-sac
ragtime lullabies rock us


yet we snort the wet night
grunting after the ox
biting into flesh


the taste of ourselves
always shocks

Making Love With Ghosts

that’s what the Chinese call it
Lucio sd in bed
the morning after
my sleepless nite


he wasn’t having sex
"even with women"
he sd when I carressd his back


I wonder if his morning observation
was because he heard me
when I thought
he’d fallen asleep


wd the Chinese scorn me
for making love to a ghost
breathing beside me

Truro

I didn’t ask you
to sing to me
in Greek
that morning in bed
in a bay motel
when you
sang to me
in Greek
abt how the sea
banishes grief
I didn’t ask
but I was touchd
that you
sang to me
in Greek
while the sea
below our balcony
washd away worries
like so many syringes

Nijinsky's Underwear

threads that held him
slide across my lips
burning me with the fire
in his leap


sniffing the ash
keeps the dance alive

Untitl'd

there are men
we meet in the nite
who shine like gems
then are gone forever


as I grow gray
memory makes a bracelet of them
which I wear to bed
so that their shining
will bring dreams

Copyright © Alex Glidzen.