vendredi 10 avril 2015



The air is a mill of hooks -

L'air est tissé d'hameçons


                    For a fatherless son

You will be aware of un absence, presently,
Growing beside you, like a tree,
A death tree, color gone, an Australian gum tree -
Balding, gelded by lightning - an illusion,
And a sky a pig's backside, an utter lack of attention.

But right now you are dumb,
And I love your stupidity,
The blind mirror of it. I look in
And no face by my own, and you think that's funny.
It is good for me

To have you grab my nose, a ladder rung.
One day you may touch what's wrong
The small skulls, the smashed blue hills, the godawful hush.
Till then your smiles are found money.