The being that nullifies its self
becomes worthy of a prompt Union.
The wood that hasn't wiped out the self
cannot possibly become incense.
...
Rivers are all the same. Dirty water
if you’re lucky, smelly mud and silt
increasingly the case. And dreary
...
In this World – which is not a world – black
and white withhold truths. In a world
we’d have multiplicities, the purity
...
How can I define this Real
of language in words? Signs
betray its unsayable being
like a hoax. Has no authenticity
...
After the sin, I slipped out
of the cave, bright and brave
for a new world. Father’s blood
...
My taut insides
twisted in hunger. I was
at the table, my plate
...
Like the Italian one, my family’s rebirth
spawned masterpieces, caused a breakdown
like the civil wars of the Reformation
...
Since there is no one to be our companion in Love
the prayer-mat is for the pious; wine-dregs and vice for us.
A place where people's souls turn and twist like polo balls
is not a place for rogues; so what's that got to do with us?
...
Every heart that annihilates its self
becomes worthy of the King's confidence.
The flower that doesn't assume the heart's hue
will be afflicted by its own muddy essence.
...
on the floor
a little death after a livid
orgasm.
...