hope never aligns with the forces of yesterday that defend themselves / hope always sides with the forces of tomorrow
that attack / hope will never inform you what these forces are and whom they attack, there are certain things you must
figure out for yourself, one plus one equals two
Give me a person to cover me,/ there is a draft of cold air in my loneliness;/ dig as I might in my belly I find/ only stones./ (Perhaps you should dig with me too.)/ On the way to my face I collect
rocks by the handful./ That is why I tell you, give me a person!/ To lie on him/ in all my meridians,/ in all my latitudes,
to rest,/ to drink his sweat,/ to sleep./
Let me enjoy a little this fluffed/ warmth.
Rhymes from the book Μα είν' αυτό ποίηση; (But Is This Poetry?)
Rhymes from the book Μα είν' αυτό ποίηση; (But Is This Poetry?)
Rhymes from the book Μα είν' αυτό ποίηση; (But Is This Poetry?) Fuck off, flower poets. Fragile as your amaryllis. Blinding and bloating yourself with silk: constantly eating and shitting a chrysalis. The doddering leftists toast with milk the stinking rats on the sinking Samina, who flee too fast to let the cheese curdle. My words are Fedayeen: verbal, fatal, fertile—where will you be when the blood begins to burble?