Western Poems

Mates Night comes then darkness past night’s darkness-- eyes hands then, rhythmic breathing in , and the drip drop drip drop drip drop of water slipping from the tap then, two cigarettes two spots of glowing red the tick tick of a clock and two hearts steeped in loneliness... Wind-Up Doll Even more, oh yes, one can remain silent even more. Inside eternal hours one can fix lifeless eyes on the smoke of a cigarette, on a cup’s form, the carpet’s faded flowers, or on imaginary writings on the wall. With stiff claws one can whisk the curtains aside, look outside. It’s streaming rain. A child with a balloon bouquet cowers beneath a canopy. A rickety cart flees the deserted square in haste. One can remain fixed in one place, here beside this curtain…but deaf, but blind. With an alien voice, utterly false, one can cry out: I love! In the oppressive arms of a man one can be a robust, beautiful female-- skin like leather tablecloth, breasts large and hard. One can stain the sinlessness of love in the bed of a drunk, a madman, a tramp. One can cunningly belittle every perplexing puzzle. Alone, occupy oneself with crosswords,