I was amok & fearless twice deceived for which I sought out satisfactions in a tree. Too carelessly I reached for love & beaten down I found you in a froth or frenzy spent my days around the pan yards. I would ask no help from those whose trust is weak but I would buy the latest & the least. I live for something practical --the case for memory-- I set one foot into the space the others leave abandoned. Not your lord or slave I meet you in an equal clash of wills & face you down. I only touch the ground on Sundays
Jerome Rothenberg - 1931-
The Lorca Variations (XXVIII) "For Turtles"
 Up there—or down here for that matter—the screams rush around us Ellipses dismember the tower of Babel, crapulent city, enraged zigzag women still sit in with feathers, on porticos Men with pale foreheads shout poems from its rooftops, crushing its grasses, city that's buried in words, like “cypress” & “daylight” “up there” & “down here”  My heart is flying from me —see it fly— & rising in a spiral, like a star, a spiral rising past the Cape obliquely, like a neon heart, celestial turtle set before the pope, until the turtle & the star drop back to earth, to test the limits of a heart, the way that hunger tests the soul or feet whatever life is left us A heart, a soul, & many turtles, where the heart transforms the body, like some pluvial sahara, & the turtles blot out the horizon, leaving turtleshells & wings behind, unto our final rest