ODE TO JOY
often colliding
with mountains
your sweating bed
the metamorphosis
of one
sunburst
lemon oil and olive
rain mountain and cloud
one
drop of sweat
sour-sweet as lemon
sentio et excrucior
Catullus
OLD MAN
Now the long boats have gone,
Rain has stolen fire from the earth.
Today tastes of cold and death
And time is salt under my hand.
Lyman Andrews
We shall have everything we want and there'll be no more dying
on the pretty plains or in the supper clubs
for our symbol we'll acknowledge vulgar materialistic laughter
over an insatiable sexual appetite
and the streets will be filled with racing forms
and the photographs of murderers and narcissists and movie stars
will swell from the walls and books alive
in
steaming rooms
