Vaia Vaia sin Vanya


Toothless beauty

































Vaia, Vaia sin Vanya

a beautiful ruin of a man
(Chekov?)
that the ceiling cracked-
not so funny to blast a gasket now,
is it?
when people die:
a spectacular dandelion-burst
that sputter-started slowly
instead of glory,
then to ruin, yes
a massive fireball
and their children wept
and could not be consoled;
on an abstract scale
the loss was dignity too

you were a cub then
and the brightened dome of
mystery-plaid human failure
lit up your landscape briefly:
to you, nothing
the sky huntress went home as always,
her arrows neatly stowed
what a handsome beast-king you were!
to sire own sprogs too: many...
the lionesses stalked and killed;
to you they gave first rights

now the three young ones will
hunt you down 
under this same-some, swirling, starry sky;
you do not fear:
your demise, the conclusion of a 
tough, dangerous and vibrant life
not the malignant mouldering of a human mistake
not the explosive, small-minded
revenge of a manling spurned,
not the hardening of a seal, or a heart

the fight will be short,
brutal, unfair
and you will die alone
like all living things-
but yes, under the african sky,
under Leo perchance;
eventually to join again
in dust motes with
those real ones and zeroes
of the O-rings and the astronauts:
the plains empty of your roars


There she yawns


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