During the pensive seasons of Spring,
I felt rotten, as if a puck of ghouls
splashed their bitten sheets on me…
Sometimes, if my mind is playing tricks,
The piercing pink heaven will sing
Of honey anti-love that bites the
Soft drumming of jelly like me,
Who dance in the waves of instability.
My imaginary friends will scream on anchored sailboats
Coming back, shouting, "There! From the distance,
we travelled with Trouble up our shirt-sleeves,
And notice, they are quite unlike any other…”
I welcome them, the fairy-tale stray-people
The deluded and lonely, what are they doing here?
We only sleep when the sun stops, but curse Beauty! I say
That sun, what embers brighten your linear touch?
What heroes can beseech the crown of Love?
We bring them to the centres of the earth,
But there it’s empty, there spring wed-diamonds folds the earth
And silhouettes dance on our naked-land bodies.
I know what bitterness I hold inside me, so I crawl
Inside corruption, let myself choke,
into my comfortable dwellings of my modard youth,
It is sad to hate it. Let the men **** on my shame,
Let me highlight mortality in a word
That death near touched me through a veil,
With a bicker finger-point to my delirium-brain
That death seems a golden merriment, except
In night-time I will continue to rot,
In angst, in mourning, in hell’s sweet wit
That I will soon die than have perfection kiss me
With a bow, I wish to leave, it’s time to turn to Love
I told them instead to set these verses, &
Sing all they want, to the azure chorus of Spring
And to keep recklessness in your pocket,
We are lucky, to have Love bleed under our skin.
Part 1 of a Cantos of hallucinatory experiences and journeys with my fantasies and reality.