(no subject)
even where the roses grow
i have learned not to trust what is lovely
the spangled garden heavy with scents
evokes no poetry in me
it costs a fortune for a good second stanza
at least seven sleepless nights--
december, hidden in snow,
is a testimony to the depth
of hate and loneliness. the empty
ring of my mouth when i am sleeping
is enough to awaken me from bad dreams
of ministers endlessly beckoning--
wherever i stood there was no grass
and whatever i ate made me sick
and whatever i took was stolen
whenever i'll die i will be dead at last.
i have read far too many books for any
of this to make sense atall
but as Bukowski would say, I hated you
when it would've taken less courage to love.
i recant any sad thing i have ever said
and i deny that there is not love
i look at the sky and she affirms
that i can teach one boy to love
but instead i teach me not to rejoice.
i have learned not to trust what is lovely
the spangled garden heavy with scents
evokes no poetry in me
it costs a fortune for a good second stanza
at least seven sleepless nights--
december, hidden in snow,
is a testimony to the depth
of hate and loneliness. the empty
ring of my mouth when i am sleeping
is enough to awaken me from bad dreams
of ministers endlessly beckoning--
wherever i stood there was no grass
and whatever i ate made me sick
and whatever i took was stolen
whenever i'll die i will be dead at last.
i have read far too many books for any
of this to make sense atall
but as Bukowski would say, I hated you
when it would've taken less courage to love.
i recant any sad thing i have ever said
and i deny that there is not love
i look at the sky and she affirms
that i can teach one boy to love
but instead i teach me not to rejoice.