FORECAST 

you  
and  
your words 
against my  
rationality 

black words  
a guide 
across 
so many miles 

those echoes 
on a silent 
page 

word messengers 
tell  
of a  
throbbing 
thunderstorm 
in distance 

black words 
white paper 
and 
here 

suddenly 

my flesh 
turned  
moist 
in 
gentle 
pink 
 
 
 

FOUR MONTHS 

i never left them 
i always made sure 
to wipe them off 
or washed the sheets 
right away 
i had learned to 
erase the signs 
of passion 
your cleanliness 
a trait accepted 
and i acknowledged 
the presence  
on your sheets 
of cum stains 
you claimed were 
left by us 
four months ago 
they looked so fresh 
i didnt wash  
the sheets for you 
this time 
 
 
 

SEE 

when i was young 
i read those poets 
and licked their words 
with my virgin tongue 
tasting 
sweetness of yearnings 
never swallowed salt  
nor felt it rubbed  
into wounds 
just words 
sweet words 
written  
in rhythms 
unfamiliar 
but imagined 
with 
round 
black pupilled 
maidenhood 
 
 
 

BLUEBROWN 
             for Uschi 

she  
fades into black walls 
at the blues bar 
and in white noise 
he sways  
across the room 
in drunkenness 
absense and convergence 
of colors in both 
and the music flows 
blue and brown and black and white 
and both feel colorless 
painted on by life 
without hearing 
once 
how blue is 
shades ever changing 
blue sky brown earth white clouds black shadows 
questions asked and answers given 
but answers which weren’t given to those received 
much like the run on Melvin’s strings 
six in a row 
prestrung               predetermined  
but changing 
with the absence of color 
in a convergence of black 
like the walls at Rosa’s 
where brown eyes fade into black 
and white noise seeks 
to shut 
out the answers 

     (At Rosa’s Blues Bar.. Chicago) 

  

(c) 1998, by Gabriele Strohschen 
 
 

ZC Poetry Page