donkey pong

" 'The sculptor,' recounts Parons, 'when he made his first cast of [Stevens'] models, he was getting ready to do the final Woofus and his studio burned to the ground. So the second Woofus was lost and what we have now is actually the third Woofus. I don't know if there's some kind of a curse there? Maybe.' "

Herrera y Reissig: Poemas Violetes

Ardent in your eyes
orison my hopes, & wholly
the calm of your illusions
fete their dulcet weddings.

One word, & in my vetust
anguish rises the moon:
a brace of nightingales
immediately cuts loose.

In my pallid vigil
I remember you come to me,
with an air of church incense
redolent of family.

Everything adores you…the hieratic
dream swan’s overjoyed…
ecstatic the twilight follows
your postures of a nun.

The dusk that anoints your life
& your chimeras gilds,
paused inside your eyecups
with a night’s sleep left.

An ancient aristocracy
files your hand of euphony
& attenuates your pupil
with a vague dust of grace.

Swans of black knots live
in the evening that expires,
the curls that adorn your nape
of changeable heliotropes.

A mystery, pain or reproach
is that tranquil wrinkle
which lays a little night
on your sibylline brow.

I was smiling, jocund…
on me your shadow fell
& in the form, alas, of a stabbing
slipped me a shiv in sleep.

When you cast your glances down
at me, Lohengrin sighs,
& they summon me from the garden
of ghosts askance.

No thoroughfares so hasty;
each step they check, & like
a carnation on my black pipe
your smile defoliates.

Well in your green April
would my dreary hours fit,
as a Beethoven sorrow
in a Schumann dream.

Enfold me, O mild cross!
By your charm, love will join me
with kisses, crying, blood,
as with nails of light.

And since Fate ordains it…
unpeeling the word “to love”
like Ophelia an orange,
we will enter into Death.