Always a poem in me I cannot hope to write—
A world full of silence, word will not transcribe
the first divine line on love, wrath & desire
Theology of verities, mystery of living lies

Language, Madonna, is but the devil’s device
to ensnare from the crypt of silence shrieking sires
of loss, of seas, how loves, laws lyrical
swim in secrecy of secrets, scuttle at the signs

& in this silence, scream of loud loud silence
Python coils round your ice-blue heart
Truth betrays truth, beauty but a bile
to all purity that in purity is never white

Troubadours of stone, leaves in water skull
Broken glass & saints about your thighs
that must shrivel like stars to talons of time—
Nightmares & puzzles, cards to screw the skies

Slow slow steps of noon across the clock
of this café table spilling dry invisible blood—
This knife into our open palms dares signify
a meaning that is not, but why love is, is all!