Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,

Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,

Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,

Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting

Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,

The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks

Glittering
Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.

28 January 1963

I've had this dream so many times
of swans in a ****** lake begging me to drink
well I came to this lake to drink, so drink I will
this lake that takes your pain
and gives you beauty in return
this lake that takes your pain
and drinks from you in return

in these red waves reflected back a specter
a wicked image of yourself, rotting, drenched in color
the burning stench of the swans shrouded by their beauty
these swans are looking directly at you

I only took the moon to care for the night
I fed her water and dusted her pillars, and when the dawn came to unleash its sight, the sun himself couldn’t bear her light

‪I want to say that all my life ive been a bride married to grief‬
‪It is the field from which I sow with foreboding and reap with transience‬
‪It grips me in my silence, and grazes me in my anger‬
‪To have and to hold‬
‪for better, for worse ‬
‪From this day forward;‬
‪Til death do us part.‬

red tape tapers the walls

white walls cover the halls

tabula rasa my mind descends

into depths deeper, I pretend

i'm far from home, far from here

far from anyone and everyone dear

a lady in the corner speaking in riddles

singing upon the silver strings of a golden fiddle