Vizsolyi - The lamp with wings : love sonnets

M. A. VIZSOLYI holds degrees from Pennsylvania State University and New York University, where he was a Starworks Fellow. He has taught poetry at New York University and to pediatric patients at the NYU Medical Center. His poems have appeared in many journals, including Margie, 6x6, Slice magazine, and Sixth Finch. He teaches ice hockey and ice skating in Central Park and lives in New York City with his wife, the poet Margarita Delcheva.

This is his first book. Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

M. A. Vizsolyi Love Sonnets THE LAMP WITH WINGS. A. Vizsolyi. Vizsolyi.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. FIRST EDITION Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request. ISBN 978-0-06-206901-6 EPub Edition AUGUST 2011 ISBN: 9780062069023 11 12 13 14 15 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Contents

look i am king of the happy poets & spend all my days where i am buried i will leave a baby on the steps of your door where the little field mouse licks its tail in the mirror of the nail i will leave a baby who will grow to tell you i am just a stranger he will ask you to teach him things like how to whistle through two fingers & make love to a girl so she likes it it will take him time to get at what you are hearing & he will learn to say the things you love & be king of the happy poets all the kings are dead they lost to image who has many children one called peter who went to the track to watch his true love run he loves runners shorts & tuesdays because no one else loves tuesdays & because who wouldnt love a womans hand i trimmed my pubic hair he told her smiling joy recurs between the legs of lovers & sometimes you can never summon it & people go to the doctor for this kind of thing or learn how their tongues disappear into the sea when i left my country i came to your body & tasted the sweat pooled in your belly button i woke up screaming & i ran about the house calling out my cats name you said whats the matter with the cat i said i realized something i just like breasts they come in various shapes like pills your breasts are tylenol-3 with codeine & its so hard to stop smoking isnt it my love its like something its like borrowing against the value of torture its like tango its like leaving a place & leaving it over & over till the clouds appear below you i think not even the lightest of birds could do it honey this morning take your time with breakfast strut around like a baby elephant & pursue me what is it you will ask yourself i felt at home again a hundred yards from home the anthem of mallards in the creek break the air like a babys fist or what the heart becomes with dark paints the beautiful girl who would put out only in the church someone forgot to save her name she tried to hide but left a trail god will tell you was small & perfect & holy her name was jaquilin she lived four houses down from me & had pretty eyes meet me at two at lucien we will talk in french & you will shake your head at my accent which i will purposefully make worse & start speaking to the french waitress about pretty boys who order beers at the bar she will color in my eyebrows with a red crayon & say voil tu es hungarian & i will laugh scratching my belly & you will pinch the pretty boys asses all of them & speak perfect french into their ear & i will get up on the table & give the stuck-up old french woman a strip show they will throw us out & well laugh at how fun jealousy can be my memory includes all the pretty girls who gave my language back she took my eyes & i felt guilty with the blonde who was as blond as the fuzz on your knees i desired a few very long hours with her & nothing more the clock forgets to move watching us naked egrets in the tunnel of gentle days i was there & thought i may not see you when we lie together & i do not penetrate you the clock falls asleep the mice that live at night in our kitchen observe each other in the dark & what they see is closer to our love than any word your stubby slavic fingers be not far from my mouth when im saying something that will make everyone in the room close their eyes & shake their heads & one girl kiss me on the cheek & grab my hand & take me to her room & say what big beautiful gloves you bought your fingers are so slavic there are tiny hairs on the knuckles i want to part them down the middle & draw tiny sunglasses on each one & introduce them to my zipper they will mess up their hair & grow tiny wings & they will carry me from this world to burger king so you will let me love the slug said & wept across the stone but it isnt my fault it was the dark colored roses & walks with you through the park at one a.m. the night is barely usable we could dance all the wars of our time to the beat of a waltz la di di la di da la di di that it may never end my dirty-work we do that birds might exist again & not just on the white sheets & worlds are dumb children dumb children do exist but must not be told they are so i love them for their darkness & their might have been & their green skies & blue suns & theyre in fact America theyre all around us & i forgot to bring you flowers i forgot to bring you to the lake where i was fishing for hours where the fish are jumping very high into existence & the light catching them for that second did i ever tell you that when you cry an angel of the lord descends upon me & x-rays my knee you make your bones so beautiful that the tiger in the leg of my pants digs her claws into my skin & purrs the worst we can end up as are ghosts & the best we will be is a funny joke mass-sent to forgotten addressees by email id hate to hope for much more id just as soon dip the head of a child in ice cream & i love all children you must have seen it when you whine the birds tuning their throats do you keep your eyes for me to groan over gods pavement that vain wish in the flowery regions of the world there will be days when my love for you will not stay & others when it will jump up & down like a child you can hear it maybe somewhere here the child says that in the distance o queen the mists of love plead practical things i open my mouth & we are among the dark scheme detected until then i will come out to the sea- rose & stretch my limbs o bones i will see dawn in the blue nest of your hair my breath of cigarette smoke passing from this room to yours you said is sometimes nice how long has it been since we could drive & never lose them behind me the wind lifting up the last pieces of lit ash how long has it been since i arrived my face all full of feathers from you didnt care to know where & my hands still gripping animal feces like a soldier is wont to do with his gun & you warmed my face on your breasts & smeared my hands on your ass psychologically speaking you said this did not happen but we would like it to i imagine the knocking of your hooves heavy keeping the clouds because it got warm all of a sudden six birds all at once crashing into the side of the shed i was frightened they flew back into the air & all at once again into the side of the shed you sat in wearing furry slippers & they were just sparrows i said to myself & let it all happen i had to keep you there so i could tell you about the cat with a wooden leg who ran out of the house to save your life the seventh knock on the wall was hers the dead are not lonely Next page