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Pastimes : Let's Talk About Our Feelings!!!

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To: Ignacio Mosqueira who wrote (4717)	3/27/1997 6:07:00 PM
From: Ignacio Mosqueira	of 108807

A Poem: Vietnamese Food Like tender shoots tremble end over end over the precise and smooth expanse bend in the crowded solace of fields of lemon grass Like an evergrowing and cropping range of discarded lost lime sighs in greedy impasse In reach prostrated to the bonding task Spread deceitful under a film of musk Bare incarnate remnants of cool feathery coals And sprays of froth and acid cyclic rage Shivering ecstatic surge upon breathy shoals Fake stolid graces yet deceive anew Yellowed skins melted on down bitter grew Twisted and pinched lemon with sour rotten tips Languid droops in prolongued melodious flow Ordered blacks evenly spread in thin deadly quips The proud crane could not be but down was brought fluttering with preparatory heaves dark and light feathers aglow in a field of snow Gelatinous white marked with feather leaves Spicy and dank bewitched tails are sought Shivering shadow of shimmering white A silken kite -- a darkly blinding sight Deep white -- a veined and grained shadowy white Shiny layered paddies, fallow folds, and mauve hills Pink embittered moons oozing circumspection Cracked porcelain exuding dewy contemplation Neatly assembled burn the auburn reeds Straight stalks lined along all one now needs Yellowed skin punctured with faded dates Nothing more than a mere hint of gender Lemon extracts crated in crusty raw mates With stout burned-out grass the sultry air reeks Charged with the sparks of flashing grins and peeks Heavy with indolent airs of well abused breath In fits and starts set it all ablaze and tender Before the winds change to a searing bath A whiff of unrehearsed whimper ends the play times severs the merry indifference of trembling chimes And brings the moral wings of elevated gloom to flap the air with noxious regularity Which only evens the brackish airs all too soon Until the aged softness, the timeless dawn of theory Shroud pinned by the dullness of morning memory Which by dint of retaining the bare glow can not endure hope but loses its charity Leaving behind nothing but stranded words for show Collapsed opposites suckling for dear life Immaculate murk of seductive strife Empty wisps full of whirling worlds Until all that remains is the stunned nearness Of abysmally shrunk cosmic swirls And now? Hunger for the emptiness of more Which brings forth its own heavy lore Mess the Gods can not but honor and bless Until all stands still quacking sore And yet we are everything, still, without a core Sad whooping crane! Downed and exhausted bird! Are you still dancing to cadences to be heard? Circle round with round bulbous eyes pinned in sight of the piled up spoils of the fray in a silver tray Still warm, the leftovers of the famished night.

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