May is coming. :)
I long for
A wrinkle on your chin,
I want your breath to grow again,
I need more still, to feed the wind
The old wicked wind at my back,
Yes « blow, wind ! » Yes « come, wrack ! »
Push me, brother, through hilly lands,
Hunt me down for days and nights,
War after war, the palm of your hand
has carried the divine thorn in my side.
I remember, once,
The sleeveless girls of May,
Sticky thighs and leaves of bay,
Death changes good men into partisans,
But we, sappy poets, will remain fool,
Free to piss on graves and schools,
Soothing daisies
with a worm-eaten soul.
S.C.R.I.B.E.
