And watch it wither for an hour
And say, 'Dear Melissa, did things turn sour?'
Would that I could and paint my heart,
My art has shown me all I can be,
Not a busy sea or black and white
But my ardent song
For camphor dawns
And renunciation's sky.
My life to a lady
Or my painting of the rocks,
Belladonna, let's move on.
Lithe unlacing course of daunsinge in song,
My threshing floor:
I long for the heart of my one,
And to love and to long for the heart of my one and only,
I want no other!
Indeed, I am sorry.
I never meant to look you over
Or lead you on,
But it's my room 's been torn asunder,
It's my door to the lover.
I cannot be calm by any measure,
No-traction, no-fall.
I'll say the deepest most
Darkest ending alluding to no-thing,
No way, man, sue me,
I'm through inventing,
That cloth never suits me,
I only tare up what I see--
The touch of love is burning,
Now paint a painting with my eyes.
I would die inside this sight,
In every moment let me die!
To see these wind-swept beaches,
To breathe the breath of light.
This song of mine ne'er reaching, tears it up in time,
But how can I be seeking with all this strewn in the way?
Straw hats half peaking, the gig is up, the kite's away!
Let them run around like needy, gypsy, drifter's sons:
All neon and soot and pores and fortunes, Jasmine's trope for better-days.
Dogs dine in violet light they stamp their feet and lull their minds, at least they try,
At least they try! That's more than you can say for the grind.
The endless shuffle of circus-sands, to circus-stand,
The endless struggle between day and night--
My mind is twilight, thorough, and mingling with the sweat and the grime.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, and each man
Fixed his eyes before his screen, flowed in, to fill,
And out into the street, to where saint Mary was not,
And there were no hours, only the dead at 5 and at 9,
Prime time to parish. 'So many, I had not thought
Death has undone so many,'
And I tremble at the sight.
Saturn can live and let me be,
I'm up tomorrow, no-jest, no-lie.
No blood on my hands will whisper,
No blood on my hands tonight.
All around me men are falling,
Hangers on, drifting, just one more
Song untied. 'I know that I hung
On the windswept tree for nine whole nights,
Wounded with the spear, dedicated to Odin,
My sight to my sight. None gave me bread,
None brought me drink. Then low to earth
I looked, I caught up the Word, roaring,
I fainted and fell back. Logos, a single word,
To a second word led, a single poem, a second found.
A gift demands a gift, and secrets are best told to no one,
But now my spell is sung.' So do you well and tell no one.
Little Jack's sparrow
Upon the barrow, down
Tomorrow, up in May.
Blesséd be the feather,
Blesséd be the name.
Blesséd be the fetter,
Blesséd be the chains.
And mother Mary won't you whisper?
Mother Mary won't you play?
Co co rico, co co rico
Wave upon wave,
And day upon day,
Shouting down:
'Shock and awe,'
And, 'Oh my god,'
And, 'Oh my damn,'
We might be blessed,
We might be cursed tomorrow.
To Carthage then I came.
Burning. O God,
Burning, you picked me,
Burning
Burning.
Upon the barrow, down
Tomorrow, up in May.
Blesséd be the feather,
Blesséd be the name.
Blesséd be the fetter,
Blesséd be the chains.
And mother Mary won't you whisper?
Mother Mary won't you play?
Co co rico, co co rico
Wave upon wave,
And day upon day,
Shouting down:
'Shock and awe,'
And, 'Oh my god,'
And, 'Oh my damn,'
We might be blessed,
We might be cursed tomorrow.
To Carthage then I came.
Burning. O God,
Burning, you picked me,
Burning
Burning.
