These Allegations.
Blackbirds are dying
Crusted hours
Overcast
Thick black coats
Hundreds of people all day long saying
goodbye outside,
like the crackling of walkie-talkies
Famous trees wither all thru winter
Would be comfortable somewhere else
Can survive only elsewhere
Pinned in the pleasure of no pleasure
I am expelled from the language, the
 songs and the questions
Hole-in-the-wall-dead-end
A posthumous existence
Anonymous country
Shell-shocked retreat
Nothing verified
Different stories of the
same old wound
Something is me, although
I am not me
Inevitable; nothing
- or next to anyway
Stares at a life that
comes and goes
The room undresses as the
next day evades
All unreal in the dark
I don’t know. Look at me:
everywhere around me I am
Watching the reversed limits
Mirror looking into mirror
Doing it all over again
It’s so foolish,
it’s like birth or death:
To be given a big part
but don’t see it
Finished with God in other words.
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