salo (jeff buckley is dead)


My lover lay naked
beneath dime store linen.
She moaned to me low
like a moon-mourning cat.

“lover, come study my body”
“lover, trace the shape of my mouth”

I peered at her
through the smoky orange light
that somehow managed to
permeate this tomb-like North Hollywood motel room.

“lover, come finger my triglyphs and metopes”
“lover, come roil in my loins”

I was suddenly unsure
of her form, though my hands
had barely left it
in the preceding days.

“Lover, tell me you don’t love me as you undress
for me as you would for your doctor and his bourgeois eyes ”

I was suddenly unsure
of the oils I should use
to loosen those hinges
that open her up.

“Lover, come bite me and suck out the terror
my antic cunt quivers, it speaks not my tongue”

Our history was tiny –
it was semen
folded in a Kleenex
Our legend was negligible,

“lover, we left behind shells and possessions
we are mere simulacra, living in Salo”

20 miles and two weeks
from venice to ventura
Our romance was ridiculous โ€“
it was refuges in rapture

“lover, come share my hallucinations
of the red ore and grey, frozen lake.”

My lover examined herself, nude, in the mirror
the television mute, in the corner
me, shriveled and sulking;
she sang to herself as she stared

“lover, there is a wolf that lurks in muddy water
and he devours all that is beautiful and good”

This entry was published on 05/06/2011 at 7:03 pm. It’s filed under Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

54 thoughts on “salo (jeff buckley is dead)

  1. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…………………………..woooooooooo………….*sigh*

  2. This is a poem I put on MySpace, originally, in May 2011 and decided not to bring with me when I came across, wholesale, to WordPress six months or so later. I didn’t bring it across because I have always been really uncomfortable with the poem and I felt I had done enough by sharing it once. I decided to put it up here because, while I still find it troubling, I’m now at least far enough away from it to understand it’s intrinsic merits – it has a beautiful internal melody, especially the ending (which I wrote first – which is unusual, I oridnarily start in the middle of a poem and work outwards) and the narrative arc is interesting. Plus it catches Angie (the soon to be briefly Mrs Seb the First) when she was the most glorious piece of ass I had ever seen in my life and she deserves that much.

  3. Pingback: Straightforward Poems for Straightforward People | tarnation and eudemonia

  4. I read this as you may have conceived in the throes of the passion of death. Like Jeff, the flight abrieviated in the leagues of the mighty…

    • Like Jeff, we sank beneath the waves into murky death. But unlike Jeff, we didn’t have unlimited promise snuffed out. we’d played our song, we’d fallen from Grace, we’d said out Last Goodbye. Good to see you, Theo!

  5. I don’t recall this one at all – but then I left before you did. What I will say is it claws at the very insides of me – the struggle between giving in to the easy beauty here and realizing the full magnitude of the hopelessness, the sense of nothing behind or in front of all this amazing fucking. And what gets be about that is that usually I don’t care what is behind or in front of amazing fucking, I just like being fucked – but here, you make me care.

  6. The opening verse is perfection upon perfection. God, I love the way you see women.

  7. โ€œLover, come bite me and suck out the terror
    my antic cunt quivers, it speaks not my tongueโ€

    Fuck yeah. I’ll have some of that!

  8. lindastoria on said:

    Epic use of the word cunt. We don’t see that enough in poems.

    Seriously, a chilling portrait of the lost weekend.

    • It’s sort of become a devalued word these days. It used to be, like,t he alpha cuss word but it seems these days you get generate more outrage calling someone a faggot than you do dropping a c-bomb.

  9. apacketofchipsontheceiling on said:

    This is heroic poetry. This is poetry that goes to the edge and over.

  10. There is honor in your poetic past.

  11. franczeka on said:

    This sits with your very best work. You may not know that (I actually have come to think you are a pretty lousy judge of your own work) but this is one of your far superior pieces – easily better than any “new” work you have produced since MySpace

    • I am a pretty lousy judge of my own work. I guess – but most folks are. I dunno. I think I’ve made the odd worthwhile contribution since I came here – the crows poem, hottest summer, the holy ghost in baltimore…

  12. Brilliant. Raw erotic genius.

  13. 1st time I’ve wished I was a page in a notebook … just to feel the impression of the marks your pen must have left. dayum.

    • Hi Stacy – that’s sweet, thank you. Most of my stuff actually comes together form a lot of sources, scraps here, notes there and it sort of gets assembled – sometimes word by word.

  14. Hoo boy. Talk about raising more questions than it answers….

  15. This is just hypnotic, especially then last 6 lines. Fantastic work.

  16. NotResponsibleAmy on said:

    You know that saying “never in my wildest dreams”? Well, this is what is in my wildest dreams.

  17. What did the comments to this say on Myspace when you posted it? I’m not sure it is the kind of poem that would have resonated with a c-2011 audience there.

  18. Love this, Seb. Love it deeply.

  19. beautifulvision1982 on said:

    Still feeling my way into your work – but this is sublime. Raw, rich and real – it purrs and spits and sings in all the right places.

  20. darkeyesblueveil on said:

    I remember this – very warm, very familiar.

  21. Oh, when the honeymoon is over.

  22. liverloverlass on said:

    Oh my, that is searing. I feel scorched.

  23. The pure power of the words here is so moving.

  24. Baron Von Nachos on said:

    Heavy as fuck.

  25. maxibigcee on said:

    The opening four and closing two lines are perfect beyond imagination

  26. Doris on said:

    wow! no words, or maybe bravo!

  27. Very beautiful ๐Ÿ™‚

  28. free penny press on said:

    so many great lines here.. in reading, it ebbs and flows like erotica ..

    especially like these:
    โ€œlover, we left behind shells and possessions
    we are mere simulacra, living in Saloโ€

    I’ve been away from poetry for a bit but think i’ll tag along for the read here.

  29. Miss Nancy on said:

    The earth moves, here.

  30. This work most definitely belongs in your “A” collection

  31. Beautiful poem Seb!

  32. Your Los Angeles poems are a genre to themselves. This also reminds me of a long weekend at Pescadero….

  33. It’s the wrong end of Tennessee for me, but Lordy, this felt very close to home.

  34. Well, look at you all answering comments and shit. This is epic – massive, dark and smouldering.

  35. Beautiful doses of hot and cold.

  36. My lover lay naked
    beneath dime store linen.
    She moaned to me low
    like a moon-mourning cat.

    I loved that and every single word of this poem.

  37. Seb! Thanks for stopping by my blog so I could find you here. This poem, man, I know the Venice to Ventura trip from the old LA days… deja vu, for sure. And the yellowed atmosphere of the hotel room, more of the same. Bizarre, this seems like a poem about the woman I once was (“sluttinski”), all about me, my bod, my sex. Now it’s about me, my family, and my sagging boobs… alas. Great write, man. Amy

  38. I’m glad you resurrected this poem ~ those final lines are wicked

  39. Beautiful! ๐Ÿ™‚

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