Eagernesses Poems

The Raven

"Scary raven, do not hover
In the sky above my head".
               Russian folk song

The raven is raving. I have no use
of prophets like you. Non-being lingers.
My life, so infertile, so sandy, so loose,
continues to slip through my fingers.

The crook, you foretold me an ultimate null:
no eagernesses, no eagers,
though death, so frustrating, so banal, so dull
continues to slip through my fingers.

"The time", said the raven. "Behold how it will
be over according to figures",
though time, so phantasmal, so false, so unreal
continues to slip through my fingers.