Hugh Fox

LAST LEAVES

Why does the collection of my dead always come back now,
some places still a glorious blend of yellows and reds, others
just black trunks and empty limbs in the last November rain, just on
the edge of snow?
“Howya doin’, Hughie?”
Bespeckled, swollen-legged, practical black-shoed Gram, or
mon mere, “Will you please pass the sugar,” making
it sound like “Fire!,” mon pere, Mr. Double-Belly,sucking
on a cigarette or (special occasions) cigar, turkey all over
the tables in my brain, and trees going up, wreathes, Bless
me, Father, for I have, God rest you merry gentlemen…wanting
Mary Joan and Shirley and Guiliana and Patricia and Dolores
and Shirley all back,Lynn coming in the midnight door to
spend the night in my high-heaven hallucinogenic dreams,
the Chicago-LA-NYC-Boston-Paris-BC streets
and desire sun-shining, moon-shining over me twenty four
hours a day.

Hugh Fox

Futuring by Hugh Fox
–Posted  on July 5, 2010

Empty out the earth,
balanced weightwise between
solarity and outer nothingness
(until we find another sun), laptop
library, books?, walking down the
text-messaging dog-walk streets,
turning my living room into Iraq,
Chicago, wrestling time, and
keep looking at those (billions)
stocks as long as they are
(no touch with real realities)
still stockable.

Futuring by Hugh Fox

Empty out the earth,
balanced weightwise between
solarity and outer nothingness
(until we find another sun), laptop
library, books?, walking down the
text-messaging dog-walk streets,
turning my living room into Iraq,
Chicago, wrestling time, and
keep looking at those (billions)
stocks as long as they are
(no touch with real realities)
still stockable.

LAST LEAVES by Hugh Fox

Why does the collection of my dead always come back now,
some places still a glorious blend of yellows and reds, others j
just black trunks and empty limbs in the last November rain, just on
the edge of snow?
“Howya doin’, Hughie?”
Bespeckled, swollen-legged, practical black-shoed Gram, or
mon mere, “Will you please pass the sugar,” making
it sound like “Fire!,” mon pere, Mr. Double-Belly,sucking
on a cigarette or (special occasions) cigar, turkey all over
the tables in my brain, and trees going up, wreathes, Bless
me, Father, for I have, God rest you merry gentlemen…wanting
Mary Joan and Shirley and Guiliana and Patricia and Dolores
and Shirley all back,Lynn coming in the midnight door to
spend the night in my high-heaven hallucinogenic dreams,
the Chicago-LA-NYC-Boston-Paris-BC streets
and desire sun-shining, moon-shining over me twenty four
hours a day.

ORGASMS by Hugh Fox

OS ORGASMOS

Um picole de cocó, um colher de Nutella chocolate
casado com avelá, ovinhos de codorniz, cocinando
com queso branco, guarana e pedaços de goiaba,
colheres cheias de Nescafe chocolate embalsimado
com azucar, esquece os olhos, as cavernas pelúcias e as
facas exploradores, os corpos deitados nos camas
celestias…so a lingua fala, trufas, brigadeiros, camifeos,
cajuzwaha, tempo tudo em um orgasmo que não termina

__________________

ORGASMS
A coconut icecream stick, a spoonful of Nutella chocolate
married to hazelnuts, quail eggs, cooking with white
cheese, guarana and pieces of guava, spoons full of
Nescafe chocolate embalmed with sugar, forget your
eyes, the plush caverns and the exploratory knives, the
bodies stretched out on celestial beds….only the tongue
talks, trufas, brigadeiros, camifeos, cajuwaha, full time
having an orgasm that doesn’t stop.

ORGASMS by Hugh Fox

OS ORGASMOS

Um picole de cocó, um colher de Nutella chocolate
casado com avelá, ovinhos de codorniz, cocinando
com queso branco, guarana e pedaços de goiaba,
colheres cheias de Nescafe chocolate embalsimado
com azucar, esquece os olhos, as cavernas pelúcias e as
facas exploradores, os corpos deitados nos camas
celestias…so a lingua fala, trufas, brigadeiros, camifeos,
cajuzwaha, tempo tudo em um orgasmo que não termina

__________________

ORGASMS
A coconut icecream stick, a spoonful of Nutella chocolate
married to hazelnuts, quail eggs, cooking with white
cheese, guarana and pieces of guava, spoons full of
Nescafe chocolate embalmed with sugar, forget your
eyes, the plush caverns and the exploratory knives, the
bodies stretched out on celestial beds….only the tongue
talks, trufas, brigadeiros, camifeos, cajuwaha, full time
having an orgasm that doesn’t stop.