Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Very Strange Day, With Bicycle

So the little black dog Diablo died. And humidity is a sticky wife.
For Yoyoy and Kuya Cesar, the eulogies will be late.
Today is the hottest day of the year.
All the instruments agree: the day of their deaths
Was a bright, blistering day.
The world exacts revenge through dry petals and forgetfulness.
The path to the garden will never be so clear,
but never so treacherous, so heartbreakingly opaque.
Parched fountain. Imaginary breeze.
At this hour only dogs defend you,
Only the wind believes you.
Only the heat understands you.
Only the plants listen to you.
Only TV holds you in utter contempt
As you, Lourd de Veyra, begin to understand
The true meaning of certain words,
For instance, tracing tiny paths around the backyard
and the granite implications of the afternoon.
Eventually you will know that light begins with rediscovery,
As Marjorie gently dissolves in the majesty
of a thousand white sheets flapping.

So today nothing exists except this mind,
this frequency approximating true love
humming through tubes of black steel–
Meet your new aluminum skeleton—
purest poetry of lightness.
Two wheels buzzing, the music of insects,
metallic and mortal, rhythm of faithful muscles.
Gravely radio voice, imagined. “Granada”
makes all the sense in the world.
Dirt road stretches downhill like a dog’s tongue.
No problem. No hands, ma.
See there.
End of the road. Sharp cliff.
Hologram of blue glass.
Sea like blade in the sun.
Eyes to the skies. Pedal like hell.
Giant cumulus explodes
into cotton tufts that stay eternally white.
Today there will be neither blood nor gravity.
This is the self, the unwounded self
speaking in futile metaphors
to one who is in perpetual motion:
You are Lourd de Veyra.
You are bicycle
You are air
And you are without fear.

--Lourd De Veyra

for discussion, E-105 classes

Happy New Year!