news, people, patients.
if maturity means
the ripening of abscesses
as fruits born by humanity:
then give me a scalpel.
in my kitchen are many knives,
and i always wash myself
no pus nor shit
can frighten me,
no old woman's pee
nor blood nor lice
nothing needs to be nice.
i deal with all
as is needed:
i can flush it down.
i look, probe,
i cut. i never
saw much to keep.
to give all away
is freedom, to build
shrines is prison.
beauty either lives
or has been dead
from the beginning.
is, i ask, all corruption?
no, i say, presence
was all i could give
to the soul seeking
and my hand to suffering.
i am no good, my fuse
is short: i like knives
better than pills
and cozy lies.
if ageing means
loss and nothing
to find: i won't
go on for long.
but, i am happy
when i smile
and often too shy
to be happy,
to smile without
wiping my face.
i am not uptight
but i feel tied
to the soil of memory,
the chain of winters,
the changes of weather
and heart, the dream
out of which i was
born: i just am.real.
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