Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Russian Trumpets

(Telemachus 8)

Terrible Caliban now
insane you’re crazy
with intention and pain you
keep your mother close like a
cold servant.

Drawing your own
radiant lips with which to
speak temptation you
will ask me to
be Plainlooking with spirit and fear
I can’t hold this mirror any longer,
for the mockery of teeth,

For the sunlit eyes.

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