*

corrupt and corrupting I proceed

like a chant upon a hill, I decorate:
my days            with more days
oh dreams            do not wake, shut

eyes!
            oh how the air can create
how the hours blend, all 
gone!
            at once I see, and at

all

            there is nothing

                        to be seen.


*

here

            an old ache I hold, in one

corner

            of this chipped bone,

something breaks and the pain

begins and begs

like

                        a slow sluggish snail

            it begs

                        a start
that never never ends.


*

so            I witness and wait,

and I wait and wait

                        to witness: 
some more, I raise my head

            to the blue,

to the clouds:

            see there!

the old and the new, how

time can pass us all, how

these walls of old wars

have not been hidden:
            oh what giant and

            mad bird has been

            pecking

                        at this city?


*

sigh after sigh, this is the place

of far-fetched emptiness

of narrow side-walks

that have no room for

            the steps—
the ones demanding

            and

            constant. 


*

on the streets the beggars beg

            they always extend:
I imagine and decline, the hands

no longer matter

                        no longer

can one count or account:	
we pass figures	how many
millions?	
all sent to this corner

                        of hunger.


*

a marred and martyred language

no one speaks here 
            we all exchange
views
I am beside myself of course, but

hear…

            hear me            imitate

            all others 
                        oh—
the figures we avoid are at once

and at all
                        us.


*

when can this deranged

tongue
when will

                        it

            cry?
when will it sustain?

            will it

            ever

grant me life or

                        death?
will it ever

grant me choice or

            dime?
I can flip my luck like dawn

I can drown it among the fish

but I have no length for life:

I’m ashamed, I	 
                        myself
trying to situate—
                        but instead

                        I evade

into my own invention of space

            as things pile up:

            here            nothing

            gets tossed or thrown—
the blood of martyrs and

            murderers

                        all the same!
            all preserved and reserved

for the hour and the next

and the one preceding

                        all.


*

the tireless tires of this city

the stuff for flames

the creators of dark fumes

the setters of gloom

I see them now—

            here and there

buried in the boil            maybe

            fed up:

                        and yes

fed to the soil. 
            and these screens

       filling…
how they make us

            all avoid

the things on the ground
a heaven,

            this is hell!

a heaven,

            we propel:
our steps

            avoiding litter,

avoiding imitations

            and all 
            creations—
            people drop

like flies, they want to speak

            make sounds
ashes on ash:

a body is murdered every hour:

            And if only

            I could—

shame these days with color.