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.

Winter Light

(Laestrygonians 205)

Shameful nature you
shrunken fiction, like
some unborn Hamlet,
the father of love
the father of error
the father of uncertainty.

Himselfhisownfather
The envy of Mars he
Is irretrievably flung,
Shybrightly token

Into the beast of decline.