Volume 13, Issue 1
Winter 2006

An Ode to Desire

Have you ever wanted something so bad, that it was all
That you seemed to be able to think about?
I know the feeling while walking down streets
And riding trains and busses; and on those busses
Trains, streets there are things going on, and whatever
You are consumed by simmers inside of you, and you
Don't seem to notice what is going on around you,
While in the midst of noise, movements, and voices of
Sentient and insentient things, to want want want while
Hours, years and days go by; and you wait on the streets
Of Anyplace while fiery winds of desire and longing
Surrounds one's flesh, hair and clothing while waiting
For one's prized object to come nearer, and I wait
On the avenues of anyplace in the open air with
Pensive eyes... the eyes of Picasso... the eyes of Ezra Pound...
The eyes of Celine... the eyes of Miles Davis.... The eyes of
Van Gogh... the eyes of Stendhal... the eyes of Dali....
The eyes of the known great...
The eyes of the unknown

I walk the streets as others have before hoping to
Find this thing-whatever it is, walking the streets
Sober or drunk through places and people, while
In reality and dream, moving pass the crowds and
Noticing the faces-you know the ones with the
Scientific eyes, and I want to hand them my dreams
From my eyes, and just maybe they'll get it
When they see, what I see

And I'll think about those who have accomplished
Great things; Is this what they felt like before they
Accomplished the things they first thought of... maybe

The dream starts off in a small closet and rages like
A powerful bull into a meadow
Do the richness and vigor of the meadow satiate it?
I do not know

But the winds are blowing this evening and I will let them
Blow me through good fortune and bad-the winds blow
Through past loves, past dreams, past ambitions,
Past friends, past bodies, past passions, past wars,
Past struggles... they past all around this street....
The past moving towards the New

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Three Girls

It was one of those days
The rain coming down hard
So hard, that it bends
A cheap umbrella
And my clothes got all wet
And my pants were particularly wet
Which sent shivers through my whole body
And the train arrived late
And the back end of the train was crowded-
With people standing up,
So I ran to the to front end,
Were there were fewer people
And the doors were about to close,
So I ran, the doors hitting me as they closed,
And opened back up, sending a shock through
My whole body

On that train, were three pretty girls,
In their late teens or early twenties
One was standing up, and the other
Two were sitting down; and they were
Speaking in low and normal tones,
And it was kind of sad because
The girl who was standing up had on
A T-shirt with her dead boyfriend
On the cover; and he was only
About twenty years old, and had died
In a car accident

And suddenly I feel ashamed of myself and my sorrow
And try to fight off a vodka buzz,
To listen to them more carefully, and to say
Something comforting, but I can't fight the buzz off,
Which causes me to close my eyes periodically

And I keep looking at the girl, who has her eyes in tears,
As she talks about what a good athlete the kid was,
And how good looking he was, and how all the girls
Wanted him; yet he remained true to her


And I keep looking up because the three girls
Are very pretty, and the one who has lost the boyfriend
Seems very strong, and she keeps looking around
At people on the train, then we make eye contact,
And then she winks at me,
And throws me a kiss, rolling her tongue along her lips,
And I wanted to say something to her,
But I couldn't find the right words or poise
So I don't and exit the train at the next stop,
While looking at the three girls,
And thinking I might not ever see these three girls again;
But if I did see them, then I wouldn't be buzzed and would
Find the "right words" to say to them

And I think this is why I ride the trains,
And write about the people in streets and on trains,
Never knowing who I might meet and
What may happen

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Copyright 2006 by Damion Hamilton - No reproduction without express permission from the author.

Letter to the Author: Damion Hamilton at requiem_poet@hotmail.com

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