The man who refurbished gargoyles
Had nails like mother of pearl, with large half moons
In conversation he tilted his head like a bird
Perched on an oak
Accustomed as he was to working at altitude
He articulated words, sharp and clean
Like the neat bites a ferret takes from flesh
At night when the TV flickered its half-light in his home
Sucking his wife into its cosy fantasies
He knotted the cord of his dressing gown
Like a flagellant's whip, against his naked thigh
He never ate sliced bread, preferring to handle
The baker's boulder whole, another craftsman's labour
In dreams he walked through
The Garden of Earthly Delights
Where devils emerged from strawberries
Pinch nosed and hissing on delicate cloven feet
His sandwiches were larks' tongues
Cow pit, crazies made on the sly
He tossed the cheese and ham lovingly made by his wife
Into the grass as crow bait to gather his familiars
He liked to lunch in the graveyard
He liked to run a crafty eye
Over the stone faced angels
Wings folded like resting dragon flies
Tomorrow he'd make his gargoyles
Ten times wickeder
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Read with the hope that it would bring some rest to my tired mind.