Death and Co

 Two, of course there are two.

It seems perfectly natural now——
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded
And balled¸ like Blake's.

Who exhibits

The birthmarks that are his trademark——
The scald scar of water,
The nude
Verdigris of the condor.

I am red meat.
 His beak

Claps sidewise: I am not his yet.

He tells me how badly I photograph.

He tells me how sweet
The babies look in their hospital
Icebox, a simple

Frill at the neck
Then the flutings of their Ionian
Death-gowns.

Then two little feet.

He does not smile or smoke.


The other does that
His hair long and plausive
Bastard
Masturbating a glitter
He wants to be loved.


I do not stir.

The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell,
The dead bell.


Somebody's done for.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...