"Have you lost yourself to the hush?”
The dying lark crumples at the barb of nature,
She is not perfect. If only I could remove the shadows
Brandished by dishonest cosmopolitan eyes, which resolve
Like earth to her body self-immolating on perfection.
Below the meridian hill, I cry for power
I first mourn for this loss of power!
Power in a dissentious day, in a few dissentious hours.
To a vein, a dreary opiate of trepidation and antipathy,
“Illa aegrescit medendo”
The indolent hypodermic!
“And now, the skyline is a despot, thrashing with a pedantic light.”
Light dies atop her flesh, darkness will seek out new crevices
Moving from the inlets of scars shallow off of famine,
That prescribes in Homer’s tongue:
“Τραγουδήστε, Ω μούσα της
λευκά χέρια της γύρω από τον πίεσε σαν πάντα”
“Όχι, γι 'αυτό είναι ένα ψεύδος στο μυαλό…”
Oh, we will never share this place again--the immoveable bed
The ironic beauty that resides in our passing
Because we are hopeless in our one life--
“You will never be lovelier…”
Because we are so agonized upon the field of love and demise--
“You will never be more beautiful…”
Because we are born ready to die,
such a muse is unforgiving …
“You will never leave my mind;
I grew cold while holding offering,
You spoke of rock, and of rust
While I coughed, and you swallowed coffee
(Before paranoia invoked calories)
There was dust after Hesperides’ garden
It was frightening, for we were children
Without the luxury of an Archduke’s sled.”
Funny, how we now find ourselves
In our own specific places; above the blemished,
Reddened then blackened terra firma,
Noisy with impatient rattling, and cries of urban anguish.
They seek each other in the smoke …
Where faces become pedantic with light.
Under the window, frantic bodies chase each other
Dreading to hear the other, but living to be heard.
“I cannot bring to you a bushel with the staves,
But I shall pretended salvation;
In this avenue of lies, desperate and naked
I shall look to find it
Until all that warms, is a kiss that osculates atop your face…
It will ebb too rapidly.
Oh, when rosy-fingered dawn takes the place of a kiss
Ascending over your rest, with its ephemeral symbol!
Τραγουδήστε, Ω μούσα…
Θρηνήσουν και να