Broken-hearted, memories are my prop

In my season of fractured hopes

Memories: sweet times recalled

As if by rote, my anti-dote

Against these claws that scrape

My bleeding heart like crabs,

Carbuncular ,in a fish-mongerís tray


To survive the pain, I fled

Yet memories hold me hostage

Like Kurumi, I paddle here,

I paddle there, yet my boat remains


Regard me, now, with a kind eye

Absolve me with an answer:

Do you tremble with longing;

Do you feel my desire;

Can you smell my lust?


The scent of the he-goat

Is the giddy tang of lust

I am the he-goat

Lust for you overwhelms


I bleat along the empty streets

I turn my nose up

I chase your scent

I find nothing


For our voyage ended long before we set sail

Like a tough word marooned in a stutter.


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SENTINEL POETRY #29, Online Magazine Monthly,† April 2005, ISSN 1479-425X