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64 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1914
Now, listen!
Surely, if the stars are lit
there’s somebody who longs for them,
somebody who wants them to shine a bit,
somebody who calls it, that wee speck of spittle, a gem?
And overridden
by blizzards of midday dust,
tears in to God,
afraid that it’s too late,
and sobbing,
kisses the sinewy hand outthrust,
swears
that he can’t , simply can’t bear a starless fate:
There must be a star, there must!
I splashed some colours from a tumbler
and smeared the drab world with emotion.
I charted on a dish of jelly
the jutting cheekbones of the ocean.
Upon the scales of a tin salmon
I read the calls of lips yet mute.
And you, could you have played a nocturne
with just a drainpipe for a flute?
Along the highway
of my soul,
all banged
and battered,
the steps of madmen
weave hard phrases patterns.
Where towns are hanged –
where in a cloud’s grey noose
freeze
towers’
crooked necks,
once prim and glossy,
I go alone
to mourn
policemen
crucified
by crossings.
''The streets are too narrow for the joyful storm.
Dressed up, the people disperse, enthralled.
I ponder.
Like blood clots, sticky and warm,
My thoughts are slithering out of my skull.''
To all of you —
those I liked or like —
cherished as icons in the cave of my soul,
solemnly, I raise as a goblet of wine
the skull filled with my poetry.
I contemplate —
so often —
ending my days
with the full stop of a bullet.
This evening,
for all of you —
just in case —
I am giving a farewell concert.
Memory,
pack the brain's auditorium
with inexhaustible swarms of beloveds.
Spatter laughter from eye to eye,
sate the night with former weddings' glory.
Fill every soul with a jocular mood
so that this night is forgotten by no one.
Today I shall play the flute —
my backbone.
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 1915
To all of you — those I liked or like —
cherished as icons in the eave of my soul, solemnly, I raise as a goblet of wine the skull filled with my poetry.
Memory,
pack the brain’s auditorium
with inexhaustible swarms of beloveds.
Spatter laughter from eye to eye,
sate the night with former weddings’ glory.
Fill every soul with a jocular mood
so that this night is forgotten by no one.
Today, I shall play the flute —
my backbone.