Translation of Pablo Neruda's "Con Ella"

With Her

How hard is this time, wait for me:

Let's live the vivid life.

Give me your small hand:

we will rise and suffer,

we will feel and fly.

We are once more the pair

that lived in barbed places

in rough nests of rock.

How long this time is, wait for me

with a basket, with your shovel,

with your shoes and your clothes.

Now we need each other

not only for the carnations,

not only to harvest honey;

we need our hands

to wash and make the fire,

so in this hard time

let us defy infinity

with four hands and four eyes.

-(8-7-2011)

"environments (co-created)"

"I don't ever know what to say to you"

Just then, the universe feels

as if

it is on the verge

of

pouring out of mouth.

at you.

but no words do the justice

that honesty deserves

when lies such distance

between the sleeping

king

queen

god love you.

millions of unstrike vixen

lay awake in my chamber

and you would not reprieve

the sorry souls

the sorrow sulls in deep Tampa

the loss ruminates on ancient street

the love forgoten by you

by other

takes deep

inspires a wealth of loss

t soul

in various counterparts

inspires a lead weight

where the right brothers wrought

inspires a gold chain where a solem soul nought

a frayed rope where a life saving

knot

to die alone

was the goal of existence

tag up home

mistakes

ambered in hours

and views

scattered in sour

pored concrete

into temp homes

wherein lean bones

bring pleasures whom last shorter

combobulated

baby aching

tender flying skylevels

bring us back sooner

than we were supposed to

in past millenia dream huts,

vine taught and symbol ridden,

chained to the future.

breems

sifting on a sea of nestle feather tustle toff
aloft the great complain
sit a weather where aloft
hear a foreign brain
who speaks in quiet frequency
keeps the wide awake
and who you would you said to me
I thought I thaw a lake

lovegoes flowgoes

art is the key

she says

i lie on my

floor and

back

of the future

my way up to

her.

it's gone

he says

that love we had before

those wine and

roses

you took my heart and shook it

lady.

past the future busses

passed the stunted rain

burns a whole for me

in that song you sang

past the president

in his lonely spent

hollow offices, got you off of this

where's your residue? and your revenue?

and your money spent?

where my love goes

the flow goes

Carvings I & II

At night I would sneak off into the woods to write things into trees that no one would ever read. I didn't mind that I would never receive any recognition for those carvings, or that they did nothing to advance the grand dream that seemed to be permanently encased in my skull.

At night I would sneak off into the woods to write things into trees that no one would ever read. I minded a lot that these carvings never easily translated into a pair of lips or some profound artistic insight.