part three:

 

farewells

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a

 

 

 

She’s left me now.

 

There is no hope in her.

 

I could not ask,

 

it’s gone beyond the end

 

I worry what will happen to her next,

 

who will be her lover, or her friend ?

 

 

She has to break me

 

and to break from me

 

I am so spineless I could never leave

 

from hurt, from love, not even from contempt,

 

since I have worn my heart out on this sleeve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

b

 

 

 

 

A searing cold which warps or splinters thought

 

revealing as mere dream what had seemed real

 

a carapace of ice which tears the touch

 

and burns the hand which reaches out to feel.

 

 

Molten woman, if she ever sets

 

a momentary flux re-animates

 

the slick, lubricious flow of meltingness

 

which cannot be contained, yet captivates.

 

 

Rolled within her wheel of ice and fire

 

I alternate, attracted and repelled,

 

and I remain quite helpless to resist

 

the charms and challenges by which I’m held.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


c

 

 

 

 

 

I’m entangled in her infinite

 

trapped and tortured, tamed and entertained

 

entered and entranced by all of it:

 

her bravery, her self-defeating fear,

 

all the undercurrents draw me there.

 

 

My love’s never constant or secure,

 

I do not love for comfort or for pain,

 

not for money, not as saint or whore,

 

the circle I describe is centred here

 

and endlessly repeated, since I care.

 

 

I’ve been through everywhere and round again

 

she’s born and broken in a circle’s span

 

and I am carried with her, slapped against

 

the song-encrusted rocks where we began.

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

d

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pale ghost of a sun        (not to be seen)

 

a screen of trees,

 

I have no entertainment but for these.

 

I should not think of you

 

since I get lost

 

among my ceremonial of dreams:

 

you are my last entanglement, it seems,

 

as life has sliced away most other knots.

 

 

What can I think of, then?

 

My head is turned.....

 

I know you,

 

know you’re mine

 

but how can I convince

 

when I am only half of what I was

 

and that was only half of what you need?

 

Still I believe and suffer,

 

breathe and wince,

 

a comical disaster,

 

hero-fool.

 

I do not want your pity but your joy

 

in something you can’t make, nor yet destroy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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