LAUREN LAVITT – a small anthology (organized by R.A.)
by John Puhiatau Pule
Huidobro, I too met the virgin seated on a rose,
she was bringing herself to orgasm by thinking of life.
She said, the trees have a special yearning
only the wind can compromise;
emptiness has a sound compared
to a name. A name is a silent
insect the loneliest man sees;
it sometimes sculpts bread
from stone and water.
A name is an inorganic desire,
it reaches into the loneliness of eyes,
finds a secluded time only
the lost soul knows. My soul
is a name. It realizes the empty
houses carry on tradition
when sad memories has no name.