hairpin

spinning stainless steel
so fastly
your rotten flesh peeling off inward
your inner throat

does not stick on
for so fastly like baton
like church choir, round and round
descending

dear maria, it

is painful, see
the bitter juice of my eyeballs run
over dry river bed shallow for years
untouched

the reflection of a gurgling
staircase to hell with sting
of a light from the pin
furthering

this isn't your aspirin, the pain the pain
of droplets of melted straw drawn out
with your coloured agony
such inept coherency

has driven you to swallow
this stripped sun. hold on fastly now
to the railing, or you will fall
hard.

requiem to lazarus

old man.
nobody likes you.
for you have taken what they'd put their prices on
individually.
you water those leaves
simply as a decoration placed
in front of the estab-lish-ment.
you make phone calls
and even talk
into the machine, after all these years
proving to me that you're a-
live
not just a jesus-worshipper.

you dared to make love to a teenager.
i do not know what i should call you
but i know
from what i hear
that people call you dirty.

i respect you.
no end.

Do not go gentle into that good night

- Dylan Thomas


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

on a stained bed

on a stained bed for hours on end
occasionally gliding in our bathrobes into the kitchen the bath
and you'd come emerging through the doorway
across my half-opened eye silky
with the mugs in your hands carelessly made
to last for the day.

in the evening you have to go
and id inevitably mourn, in rapid disguise,
and make several calls abroad
so you would stay for a few more hours.

many years from now, you'd flip through the folds of your brain
and see me standing there as i do
hand over mouth
so we'd know it was real.

daphne

i had such a beautiful pen once
it pains me to know i've lost it on the way
i was such a beautiful pen once
tracing hills before ladon lay

you gave it to me that summer night
drizzling ever so lightly the jacaranda flowers'
ghost-blue purpling in moonlight
your face alifted from my darker hours

how you smiled at dancing shades
i catching from the corner of my eye
pretending to bask in split glades
thrown so casually believed a venerable tie

with you, even at the alter of this shining one
convoluted to please the sons of the lion
would you still say you half love or frantic run
than to be driven from your airy lair a dashed scion?

here there are the other shadows with dry dun ink
ill gotten from your laurel arm
between the boughs your rare twinkle shrink
as i drink from lethe in ache to disarm

i had such a beautiful pen once
it pains me to know i've lost it on the way
i was such a beautiful pen once
tracing hills before ladon lay.