Wednesday, 11 November 2015


Ennead to the Power of Three. - Broadfield Garden, 10th/11/2015


Such anger demolishes my soul
I cannot find my way through Dante's forest:
the tokens we exchanged of tendency

are now quite inhumed in the distant past -
Archimede's soft bath-suds overflow again
eureka! - but we only have to miracle

our desperate situation, love,
there is a peace and gentleness to find,
without the two of us misplacing mind.


Give me yourself: you did once long before,
forget the past ~ our fates were matched before
we argued that first time, that second, third,

our might and meeting of our matchless minds
unparelleled in our intensity ~
come home my love, come home to my soft heart.

Or don't. If no way you can you see to set
me free, then make it brief and brutally
effective. Love me or just let me be.


I gave a bench to some carousers,
they did decline but then relented.
To give the tricks of kindness takes some front.

And yes, I am quite capable of being
a cunt ~ that lovely word, your aureoles,
scar-tissues, so, so, strange, I miss with all

my heart and tongue and cock and touch and taste,
I still desire you more than words depict:
be gentle, loving. Have ruth for this twit.

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