The Northern Lights:
the old dog shakes himself.
A damson falling
brings leaves and wasps
down to earth.
After the Sauna
night-breeze on our nipples.
The Northern Lights.
Friendless and magnificent
above McDonald’s:
the Harvest Moon.
Pond beneath a moonless sky:
Start and finish of everything.
Every year the leaves
are deported by the wind
to the camps of rot.
Its last blood-red leaves gone
how stiff the creeper
on the graveyard wall.
Hoar-frost on the hair
upon the hot chests of the
[magic] mushroom gatherers.
In my autumn groin
mist and rain and river
are indistinguishable.
Dead tree slanting athwart the stream:
Ivy-stems entwine my life.
After the storm, apples pass
from wasps to slugs to me.
Another robin in my mousetrap:
few of us fail to give humanity
a bad name.
Superhuman sound:
a rat gnawing the steel grille
with snow-white teeth.
Wagtail on the roof:
the wise man combs his beard
with a fork.
Seeming to do little
the fossil has survived
a hundred million years.
Full winter moon – is it
a coalescing of coldness?
A winter morning:
the soap is crenellated
by the teeth of rats.
Snowflakes dancing down
on the men who are digging
another mass grave.
December foghorn:
yet another beckoning
from beyond the grave.
The weather forecast.
Millennia of wind and rain
- and now people shave.
Snail-trails in frost:
‘A painter should study
the stains on walls.’
The crotch of a winter birch
love, like the Unicorn
is conceived here.
The skin of the wino
is a beautiful silk palace for lice.
Locked ward
and sunless winter day:
Home is where the mind is.
Neat path. Neat lawn.
Neat visitors.
Neat concentration-camp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem