You could never have been a friend of mine,
Even if I played as sweet as dead Lester
Three feet from you,because you mean too much,
Your voice opens all doors on fed-up love.
Night,no one forgets you,or your several voices,
The laughter of lovers and quick dressing of adulterers...
The almost silent trees,and cries from sleep
That express the unutterable,the undisclosed.
Light for the furtive,too frequent not to be missed
By crooks or perfectionists,the saintly
At their long prayers,safe-breakers and lovers
At their intricate fingerings.Should this city
Burn tonight,it will be dark where I am,
All the absurd crimes of the night have found me here.
I will be among the ashes.
The man is a liar
Who says he has not found my grey dirt in his heart
There are no pure.Some tried.They are dead now.
To be both wild and clean;I would not allow
Myself that- excess of sex without shame,
A proper indulgence,harmlessly untame.
What city could contain that,or permit
One happy life to make a fool of it?
...irresistible beauties of shame or wealth,
Facilities of spirit to soothe them with.
...stimulated minds
Invent utopias,and escapes to find
In bubbles of Arcadian alcohol
The townless slopes of standard pastoral
Glow like populated glass.
Society's a sham with many gods,
Immune to peace,contentedly at odds,
Fragmented into class and shattered clique
That reason life by self-preserving pique,
You never quite forget man could unite
His blood and species,a cause the armies fight
To stop,orators lie,bad poets write.
Community's a myth.
..secret enclaves scheme
To bring to life a dream within a dream.
The happy life is dreamt,just like the love
Before the first,and is not quite enough.
Insufficent perfections-what else is there?
Immaculate,unbothered lives,like air
Or glass,stay round us,better selves,unshadows
Doing different though they wear old cloths.
