Why Do I Drink?

So that I can write poetry

Sometimes when it’s all spun out

And all that is ugly recedes into a deep sleep

There is an awakening

And all that remains is true

As the body is ravaged

The spirit grows stronger

Forgive me Father

For I know what I do

I want to hear the last poem

Of the last poet

– James Douglas Morrison

Gustav Klimt – Apple Tree I

Although many nights have separated us, through time and space, I feel you tonight

And although it is he whose arms hold me now, it is you who surrounds me

As in so many nights spent skin to skin, heart to heart

Legs tangled, sweat dripping from your hard body

Falling asleep to the rhythm of two hearts beating as one

And I whisper that I love you

Realizing how deeply your soul is embedded in mine

Naked Song

Gustav Klimt – Fulfillment

Awake from caresses, I still feel your embrace running through my body. Shaken and tenuous I go on walking in your image. So deep with instincts was my simple reclamation. From me fled hours of robust will, and left my sensation humble of reasons. I didn’t know about ages nor rigid reflections. I was life, beloved! The life that passed through the song of the bird and artery of the tree. Other softer notes I could have made flow, but my fertile desire knew no shortcuts. I clung to the crazy hour, and my wild leaves bent over you. I freed myself to the purity of a love without garments that carried my life from the unreal to the human, and I was to see all of myself in a scream of tears, in remembrance of the birds. I did not know how to guard myself against invincible currents. I was life, beloved! The life that in you strayed from its course, to give itself to my arms.

-Unknown

I was the quietest one…

Gustav Klimt – Salome

Of all those who made voyage to your port. No lewd social ceremonies announced me, nor the deaf bells of ancestral reflections.  My route was the savage music of the birds, releasing to the air my circling generosity. No ships heavy with opulence carried me, nor oriental rugs supported my body. Over the ships my face appeared, whistling in the round simplicity of the winds. I did not weigh the harmony of trivial ambitions which your hand promised, full of star-bursts, I only weighted on the floor of my agile spirit the tragic abandon which your gesture occulted. Your perennial duty was marked by the avid thirst. You resembled the sea, resonant and discrete. Over you I went, passing my lost hours. Over me, you followed yourself, like the sun in the petals. And I walked in the breeze of your fallen pain, with the ingenious sadness knowing myself right. Your life was a profound churning of restless fountains, in an immense white river, running to the desert. One day, by the yellow shores of hysteria, many hidden faces of ambition followed you. Through the waves of your tears, uprooted through the cosmos, voices leaked without crossing your mystery. I was the quietest one. The voice with almost no echo. The conscious spread in a syllable of anguish, scattered and tender through all the silences. I was the quietest one. The one who lept from earth with no more weapon than a verse. And here, you see me, stars, scattered and tender, with his love in my breast. – Julia DeBurgos