Read Online The Cinnamon Peeler by Michael Ondaatje - Free Book Online

water
    climbed into my car and drove home
    got out of the car still wet towel round me
    opened the gate and walked to the house
    Disintegration of the spirit
    no stars
    leaf being eaten by moonlight
    The small creatures who are blind
    who travel with the aid
    of petite white horns
    take over the world
    Sound of a moth
    The screen door in its suspicion
    allows nothing in, as I allow nothing in.
    The raspberries my son gave me
    wild, cold out of the fridge, a few I put
    in my mouth, some in my shirt pocket
    and forgot
    I sit here
    in a half dark kitchen
    the stain at my heart
    caused by this gift
    *

(Saturday)
    The three trunks
    of the walnut
    the ceremonial ducks
    who limbo under the fence
    and creep up the lawn
    Apple tree Blue and white house
    I know this is beautiful
    I wished to write today
    about small things
    that might persuade me
    out of my want
    The lines I read
    about ‘cowardice’ and ‘loyalty’
    I don’t know
    if this is drowning
    or coming up for air
                   At night
    I give you my hand
    like a corpse
    out of the water
    *

(Insomnia)
    Night and its forces
    step through the picket gate
    from the blue bush
    to the kitchen
    Everywhere it moves
    and we cannot sleep we cannot sleep
    we damn the missionaries
    their morals thin as stars
    we find ourselves
    within the black
    circus of the fly
    all night long
    his sandpaper
    tabasco leg
    The dog sleepwalks
    into the cupboard
    into the garden and heart attacks
    hello
    I’ve had a dog dream
    wake up and cannot find
    my long ears
    Nicotine caffeine
    hungry bodies
    could put us to sleep
    but nothing puts us to sleep
             *
    How many windows have I broken?
    And doors and lamps, and last month
    a tumbler I smashed into a desk
    then stood over the sink
    digging out splinters
    with an awkward left hand
    I have beaten my head with stones
    pieces of fence
    tried to tear out my eyes
    these are not exaggerations
    they were acts when words failed
    the way surgeons
    hammer hearts gone still
    now this
    small parallel pain
    in my finger
    the invisible thing inside
    circling
                   glass
                   on its voyage out
                   to the heart
    *

(After Che-King, 11th Century
BC )
    If you love me and think only of me
    lift your robe and ford the river Chen
    catch
                   ‘the floating world’
    8.52 from Chicago
    lift your skirt
    through customs,
    kiss me in the parking lot
    *

(‘La Belle Romance’)
    Another deep night
    with the National Enquirer
    silence
    like the unseen
    arms of a bat
    the book
    falls open
    to sadness
    – dead flowers, dead
    horses who carried
    lovers to a meeting
    On my last walk
    through the kitchen
    I see it
                   I lift
    huge arms of a cobweb
    out of the air
    and carry its Y
    slowly to the porch
    as if alive
    as if it was a wounded bird
    or some terrible camouflaged insect
    that could damage children
             *
    The distance between us
    and then this small map
    of stars
                   a concentrated
    ocean of the night
    when lovers worship heavens
    they are worshipping
    a lack of distance
    my brother the moon
    the lofty mattress
    of nebula,
    rash and spray of love
                             It is all
    as close as my palm
    on your body
                                            so you
    among pillows and moonlight
    look up, search
    for the jewellery
    bathing in darkness
    satellite hunger, remote control,
    ‘the royal we’
                             and find
    your own dark hand
             *
    What were the names of the towns
    we drove into and