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Archive for the ‘Charles Bane Jr.’ Category

By Charles Bane Jr.

The air is paved
with fire; you are there
and I and in privacy
I sense the larger end
of land, and a wild and
waiting sea. None, my
soul, is small
upon its course
of flames and I oar
upon your love of me
to a waiting Face that
looks for me in flashes
of the dark.

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Angels Land

By Charles Bane Jr.

Angels land
on corners
of busy streets;
I love their folds
and silent looks
and the possibility
of launch to my
first dreams when
I saw them in an
antiseptic room
and thought, there
is no abyss or waiting
dark should I fall
asleep. No, I thought,
there is nothing
of the common way
in what I see
and raised on elbows
I watched clouds swollen
with manna in a falling
winter scene.

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Untitled

By Charles Bane Jr

Near Rouen. July 8 1944

We trooped into countryside,
walking behind tanks like children
trailing parents to a scene of petty
wrong. I was more exhausted
than I can say; I was tired of shots
and the substitute of guns for
the soundings of the sky and handsome
forks of gold like those back home
where storms are welcome to the eye.
This was a naked place, powdered
everywhere with dust and ash. It lay
on trees and covered men I shot
like birds and who dropped a little
distance away. At home,
the cathedral of the night
catches in its hands
our talk sometimes and you hear
the flight of the unseen
to firesides they crave.

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By Charles Bane Jr.

I wanna be wich you. By the chain
link fence on the corner we
walked past (where I kissed
u when u stopped and looked at me
and went, Dude) There was a street lamp
shining through the fence
onto a skip of oil
and somethin turned around.
Then I came home,
now thinking about u.
U stepping into day. On Sunday,
when even the Korean people
are a little nice. When the cooking
smells are horns. Hey, you know
that red like the truck outside
Schwartz’s on flower day? That’s
the red I wanna see u in and you
know and hey, that smell
when we were close, you buy
that at the store?
I saw your Mom there
and I go, Miz Hernandez , lemme
carry those and we walked
to your place and I look up
and your Mom goes.
love, it’s like guava.

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By Charles Bane Jr.

We both came bare
to a crossing way; I think
empty arms collect
greater sprays that visitors
find, when entering a hall. They
do not see what’s gathered
and stood together in a vase
of crimson glass to dispel
the other’s shadow. It was
wise to wait until I found you
painted in reverse on grass
to bring you home. Look
what swells of light stream
into the parlor. They entered
our plain house with you.

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Alexander’s Seizure

By Charles Bane Jr.

It is an aloneness, this malady.
It hurled me from Bucephalus yesterday.
I fell ( as I lay and shook
upon the fields ) into the sea. There are always
dolphins waiting; in beautiful depths
I take a fin and watch patterns cross
the bodies of my companions that are cut from cloaks
of waves, or handsome shields. I wish the world
was watery. Swords are only flashing schools,
motioning past. The dolphins turned
to shallows and I cried, but made only bubbles.
I could not call , “Away from war. I watched you swim
at twilight once, and looked on peace.”

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