A summer fat and sweet
The indifferent streets, how people pass
My skin is stretched, my bones escaping
Tahiti
Just an ordninary man down from the hills
Wild, shy, confused
Shaggy-faced but poetry there
He spoke, then opened his eyes
She looks weak, she sounds innocent
A garden shed, paraquat, a shotgun, photographs
We must not be taken in
Yes, I have been to Mars. It's fairly red
To watch my mother sewing
Lice falling onto paper, cracked between nails
Cheese and Onion paste in a huge yellow bowl: the fire
Think of it, think of it, the train in the night
Built from rivers, stones pass
The quiet tongue, the dry, cracked lips
Sheep, dogs, ponies, beer, sweaty women
Like sparrows for breadcrumbs
Men in sports jackets and open-necked shirts
The Black Book
Oh how I have hated you all
I defer but I do not have to believe
Where art rises from the earth to dribble away
Forgive me then, of a certain hatred
No comments:
Post a Comment