Saturday, September 16, 2006


A cliff of desire
Awrily wrapped in a northern voice
Like stationary
Irresistible and sweet
For sale
Like our dead
In foreign-language press
Deeply entrenched
Crouching before shrines
Of supermarket chains
And bodily pain
That ameliorates
Only with lust
With heroism

A cliff of desire
In a city grown out of a pane
Where I kept conversations
Embalsamed in sweating phrasings
Exhausted mornings
Sleeping away in cafes
Sickly embroidered
On threads of hunger
For the raving street
For visual starvation
For contamination
Your publisher
His advertisements
On fusion food magazines
Political statements
Borrowed from Auden
About screeching sounds
That rip off the flesh
From a marketing survey
That turns you
Into grains of sand
As the progeny
Of a Biblical man
That bore no name
That beared no thing
He wore a tie
Adulterous hinges
Watched him sleep
He resembled that smell
Seemly of machinery
He resembled a type-writer
His plain clothes
Weary from statements

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