“Unchained Andalusia”


winter sad
reddened look
with what was muscles
on staircases disgusted
by his talkative girl
of foreign thought
producing evenings
not inviting him? no, mead piped
eyelids drunk with him, his son
sorrow months
they knew happier
but my people went to sea
with the archways of my honey
her ifs instructed hurt old
problems raised new glasses
to somewhere, oh joyselled
music, one note, smoking-costume
young ears, cheeks in circle
tears in boyish compartments
fingers in motion
some horrible verse
of that or night breeding
eloquent who knowing
were never praised
but absently
and for her actwhole
they’d lit her a movie

turn to when love had names
outer beautiful
with a bore
chin palework
facelong that came to
our old country house
seemed friendly cries
most had a bit of wing
like Brigitte, attached
to her finger
be be be
on roughened strings
from old-fashioned
silent stood outs
I sang
the peculiar she-is-romance
unchained Andalusia

Copyright © 2012 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.