LAMENTATION OF A BROKEN SILHOUETTE
The nape of my neck
is
crusted with sugar like clinker;
But no one tastes or even sees it which
Is because from in front it's invisible,
From side and back it has a changing shape.
This chill-wind world cuts my shape into lines
So quite devoid of meaning, so shortest-distance
Between two vanishing points I do not wonder
No one takes my sugar when I bow.
Warm in the crook of an embracing elbow
My neck
is
round at last but alas!
The rest of me falls away and I can't find it.
At any given moment what I can gather
Together I give to you. I quite understand
The
malentendu
and malice my pieces provoke.
I will even try to accept what love is going
For bits I bring that do not belong to me.
BEGGAR AT THE VILLA D'ESTE
No legs. I must sit still.
People pass who are,
More or less, amused at falling waters.
Treasures of this hill.
He was rich. I'm poor,
But share his pleasures.
I shan't risk my virtue for Perhaps,
When here expensive fancies are secure.
"It's obsessive-the fountains- the whole idea"
That posh-faced tourist says.
I have to laugh
At fear afraid of fear.
