from Morning, You [1971]
Mad Dog Stanzas, traditionally reserved for poetry by drunkards and lunatics
~ ~ ~
I see her thinking: My kisses
are cold tonight. — How she then hurls
herself into that trusted void!
Mechanically prodding me from
her vacuum. — Towards her smell.
~ ~ ~
I count the steps on the stairs
and then subtract her age.
The number of times the clocks strike
are the thirteen letters of her name.
I tear her like a wet newspaper.
~ ~ ~
Will I ever grow used to time
that wears us down together?
Or will I, like her, become a coincidence,
an aperture in time? —
Her slit is my sign.
~ ~ ~
You lie there naked, but no more naked than at the doctor’s.
Your wound no more naked than your knees.
As if it’s a habit. My own body, I’ve come to see
with different eyes. As if, after all these years,
the rejection no longer applies.
~ ~ ~
Your palm glides more softly, you’re starting
to get it. Your breasts are fuller too
after three months of caresses. The dance
of your hip finally echoes our first nights
with all those teething problems.
~ ~ ~
Close to her, I think: our story is
cold metal, something for half
a day a week, a passing madness.
And I’m just the table leg a bitch
pisses on out of longing for something else.
~ ~ ~
Getting dressed. Pressing what I’ve worshipped
into stretch panties. Arranging your segments.
You raise your foot & I think
you think I’m a part of you.
Something like an ingrown toenail.
~ ~ ~
“More. Don’t stop. Faster!” No, she didn’t groan
it, she swore, “Oh, God, oh, God damn it!”
And then, “What have you done
to my face? It looks years younger!”
And then, “Oh, boy, if you ever cheat on me!”
~ ~ ~
It’s finished. Adieu. Hidden under make-up.
Or rather, did it ever exist? Or is there
a corpse still lying here between the sheets,
looking like the two of us and panting still?
Her mouth: my lock.
~ ~ ~
The smell of her cunt and arse confuse her,
the taste in my mouth shames her.
She’s not that fish, she thinks, with piss and sweat,
but some other animal, deodorised and in another land.
That’s why she’s sometimes hated by her glands.
~ ~ ~
Her name which you say and yawning
spell out over and over again, snowed under.
Her name which you groan
until the neighbour calls the police.
Her name which you swallow / like she swallows her pill.
~ ~ ~
When she sleeps I open
her finest pages and read
the wiring of her soft,
warm television—
a circuit from her to her.
~ ~ ~
Ha-ha! I had a heart, I swear it,
trembling like any other. And chattering.
Truly, it lay there waiting for her.
— She took her iron and placed
it on my heart and pressed and pressed.
~ ~ ~
“Do you want to?”—“If you do, so do I.”
“Then I don’t want to.”—“Me neither.”
Who wanted to? Who wanted to?
When tenderness is in the majority,
there’s no one to open the door.
~ ~ ~
“He took my virginity,” she said.
“Every day I’m scared of him,” she said.
“I can never trust him,” she said.
“I sob for hours at a time,” she said and sobbed,
“and you, you’re just my lover.”
ТЕЛЕГРАМКанал с обзорами, анонсами новинок и книжными подборками
Книжный Вестник
Бот для удобного поиска книг (если не нашлось на сайте)
Поиск книг
Свежие любовные романы в удобных форматах
Любовные романы
Детективы и триллеры, все новинки
Детективы
Фантастика и фэнтези, все новинки
Фантастика
Отборные классические книги
Классика
ВКОНТАКТЕБиблиотека с любовными романами, которая наверняка придётся по вкусу женской части аудитории
Любовные романы
Библиотека с фантастикой и фэнтези, а также смежных жанров
Фантастика
Самые популярные книги в формате фб2
Топ фб2
книги