DESIRE AND ILLNESS
Your garden makes you a man of England
but you are always traveling to Rome
its debaucheries and orgies,
making censors shriek.
You travel the Mediterranean,
sapphire seas, white stucco
villas, and sands that kissed
Odysseusís feet, and look on
bodies in the surf, naked glories
which were holiness.
Your method of knowing
is to touch carnal geography.
To know entropy
in its flesh, carrion
collapse and the dread of unending
nightmare. Disease comes
on the wrong day, eating
and grinning. Sores
disrobing your imperfect flesh.
It rants and torments you
as a villain. Pomposity grown noble,
the voice of old Empire
and its hatred of strangers,
dread of illness,
turns you Untouchable,
drawing an ultimate circle
around your bed.
OF THE FUTURE
The moon is white bone floating in black sky
everywhere star-skulls and their secret longings.
You make your way in the dark, squinting at the moon
your ruined eyes learning to read the shadows
pale spills of white spread across the room.
You fear the night going solid
and nothing for you to see
moon and bone, sky and skulls
buried in your brain.
Soon you will fall into a pool of questions
about an inner life as much in pain
as your sight, which once knew colours
vividly before going cold. Your face is old:
photograph of the future in a dark room.
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